Save Me
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: Complete, finally. The Saints went to Detroit to get away from the pressure in New York for a while. Murphy comes up with the smart idea to try and pull a hit on a drug dealer named Vincenzo Coccotti. Their night goes less than well. ConnxOC MurphxOC
1. A Little Punch Drunk

Disclaimer: I don't own the Boondock Saints. If I did this would be a movie and not a FANfiction, I would be well acquainted with Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus, and I would be a guy named Troy Duffy with a funky mustache. I'm not and that kind of makes me sad (except for the being Troy Duffy…I'm fine not being him.)

Rating: R…for language and personal, brutal violence.

Nicholas de Vilance: Yeah, I know. "You always start stories and never finish them." So shoot me…Someone read my story "Handcuffed to a Toilet" and told me to write a long term story. Here it begins. PLEASE REVIEW!!! Even if it is to flame me, yell at me or hurt my feelings, I like reviews.

* * *

Mary Barrette wasn't a popular person. She didn't stand out in a crowd. Even when she walked into the emergency room wearing a tank top in the middle of autumn in Detroit. The shirt revealed a good many scratches and bruises that were result of a mugging. She had by now gotten used to the fact she was not safe on the streets. (She got the guy who did it with pepper spray—right in the eyes.) 

Thus, she sat in the waiting room at the hospital, nursing her sores and delicately rubbing her arms against the cold. She soon saw that last person she had expected to see that night. "Hey Joseph!" she called as he walked in. Quiet as she was—so as not to disturb the people around her—he recognized her at once.

Joseph was her boss, but that didn't stop them from being good friends. "Jesus, what happened to you?" He walked slowly over to her, shaking the rainwater off his coat.

"Just the usual thing that happens when I'm out late chasing a good story." She smiled for the first time in that painful night. "Some desperate guy trying to pretend he has the balls to hurt somebody. What are you doing here?"

"My wife just called me and said she sliced off her finger while she was making dinner. I hope to God she was exaggerating." The lady at the counter called some one's name, sounding bored with her job. "What are you doing running around Detroit in a tank top, girl? You'll kill yourself."

Mary laughed lightly and sat back, a warm feeling coming back to her. "It's refreshing, you should try it."

"No thank you." He took off his jacket and handed it to her. "Here, you can give this back the next time you come into the office."

Normally she wouldn't have, but the need being dire she gratefully took his coat and pulled it on. It was ridiculously big for her. "Thank you, _Christos_."

"You calling me a Messiah?"

"Just a bit, just go see how your wife is doing." She watched until he had disappeared into a hallway and turned a corner. She loved that man, but don't get the wrong ideas. Joseph is much too old for her. She had to be at least eleven years younger than him. He was like a father to her and seeing him always brightened her day a little, even if it didn't need to.

With good thoughts on her mind, she found her waiting a less gruesome task. She took to counting the cars outside the window as they passed by. She was up to thirty-six when something odd caught her eye. A figure, just barely noticeable, toppled to the sidewalk, stood back up and limped awkwardly past the window. A few seconds later that figure entered the hospital. It was a man, tall, lanky and pale. He was soaked through all of his clothes and he limped almost as though his leg was broken.

Four, maybe five steps past the door his eyes met hers and she realized she was staring at him. She didn't like the way he looked (as though he was ready to keel over right there). Slowly, she stood and took a step toward the stranger. "Are you all right?" she started to say.

His eyes rolled slightly and he fell forward. A fit of coughing that erupted from his throat caught the attention of everyone in the room. Mary ran up to him because she felt like no one else was going to help him, the least she could to was try. He was pushing himself up and he flinched when she touched him as if he expected some violent action directed at him. "Stay away," he muttered his breath coming in short, gagging gasps.

For a moment she thought he was just scared of getting help, but then she realized the true intention of his warning. She stepped to the side and kneeled down beside him. "Take a deep breath," she told him softly, rubbing his back comfortingly. "You're all right, okay?" She saw him gag again and patted his back lightly.

For just a moment he felt the rage of pain and nausea in his stomach die down. He glanced up at her and meant to say something. He was rudely interrupted by a steady stream of vomit surging up his throat. He turned away just in time to direct his sickness towards the floor, instead of the lady next to him.

Mary made a face at the smell of throw up, but didn't leave his side. Poor guy, she thought. She had to wonder what had happened to him to make him so ill. She heard a lot of the staff of the hospital start to bustle around to figure out what to do with this strange man that had just come in and thrown up all over their floor.

A nurse came up and addressed Mary. "What happened?" she demanded sharply, almost accusingly. "Are you related to this man?"

Suddenly a thought occurred to Mary, that she didn't recognize right away. Still it made her lie to the nurse. "No, he's my boyfriend." The nurse nodded and together they hefted the man up—he now seemed to lack the strength to stand. Another doctor helped them get him in a wheelchair.

"You'll need to fill this out," the nurse said as they wheeled him out of the room. She handed Mary a clipboard with a sheet of paperwork and a pen on it. "I don't think I can let you come, though."

"Don't give me that, lady," she said, pretending to be protective of her "boyfriend." "I want to know everything that happens to him, understand?" Mary always prided herself as a good actor, and now those skills paid off.

The nurse gave in quickly, obviously not wanting to come between an overly protective lady and her love.

* * *

There were very few things that he could remember at that moment. The moment that he came to and realized that he was in a nice bed with a roof above him holding back the rain he knew there was something wrong. He felt considerably better than he had before he'd passed out, but that still wasn't saying he felt particularly good. He squeezed his eyes shut against a headache that pounded just near his ears. Then he noticed the reason he'd woken up.

That lady from before was standing over him and prodding his shoulder with a sharp finger. "Fuckin' Christ, Lady," he muttered, lifting a hand to stop her from leaving another bruise among the many he had collected.

"Hey, watch your language." Her voice wasn't near as soothing as it had been. "I just wanted to ask you something before I have to leave. You could be a bit more considerate, or at least grateful." His silence didn't bother her as much as his glare did. "Have I seen you on TV?"

The question obviously caught him off-guard. "What the fuck kind of question is that?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Yep, you're Irish all right. 'Fuckin' this and fuckin' that.' Like you never knew proper English—Hey, you're not supposed to get up yet." She tried to keep him from getting out of bed.

"Where are my things?" He pushed her gently, but firmly out of the way. "I gotta get outta here."

"I know I recognize you from somewhere," she went on, "Were you on the news?" She definitely did not understand the situation—but then again, how could she? She hadn't been there.

He walked across the room looking for any sign of his bag or even his gun. Maybe his clothes even, being that he didn't like the hospital dress thing. "I'm serious, Lady, where's my stuff?"

"I'll give it to you if you answer my question."

He glared at her threateningly, though he knew he wouldn't hurt her. There passed an unofficial contest between them (who would falter first?). "Fine…yes, I've been on the news, all right? Now where are my things."

She pointed to the chair in the corner of the room that he hadn't noticed before. He felt a bit stupid at that moment, but quickly got over it and checked to see if everything was there. She hadn't noticed his gun, because it was still in his bag. "D'ya mind?"

She took the hint that he wanted to get changed and walked across the room to pull the curtain around him. She didn't know what compelled her to wait, but she did. Maybe it was that she was slowly trying to recognize him, but it was harder than she thought. "What's your name?"

"Ya can leave, ya know."

She made no move to do so. "What happened to you? Why were you all beat up and nauseous?"

"I was a little punch drunk, now leave me alone." He shouldered his bag and tossed the curtain aside, being fully dressed and liking it that way. "I have to get outta here."

"Are you one of the Saints?"

He stopped dead just as he passed her, three steps from the door. Apparently even in Detroit they were known. "Shit," he muttered, "Did you tell anyone that?"

"You are, aren't you?" Her eyes were wide with admiration; but then again maybe that was a bad thing. "No, I didn't come to this conclusion until now." A long pause passed between them, and she then realized how dangerous this man was. "You're wanted, you know."

He didn't like where she could have been going with this. He pulled the gun out and she looked panic-stricken. "Yer really gettin' on my nerves," he said, aiming it at her haphazardly.


	2. Lost Your Merchandise?

Nicholas de Vilance: Yeah, two chapters because it what I have typed so far. Tell me please if anything in Italian is spelled wrong or if the translation is wrong. PLEASE REVIEW!!!

* * *

Connor woke to an excruciating pain in his head, but that wasn't the half of it. His entire torso throbbed and his legs felt like they were being stabbed. It took him what felt like an hour to recover his wits enough to understand that he was in a dark room with his hands bound behind his back with a plastic zip-tie. He twisted awkwardly and painfully until he managed a sitting position propped against a wall that was apparently behind him. Around him, he could see only the faint outline of walls and maybe a door in the dim light that came through a window high up on the wall to his left. 

He felt blind and battered, but his hearing was still impeccable. He heard noises outside the door, but couldn't register them as anything recognizable. All the memory he might have had about how he had gotten into his current predicament was now gone out the window. "It's freezing," he muttered so to be sure that he could still speak.

Connor wriggled his cold, stiff fingers and awkwardly scratched at the wall behind him. Just when his eyes began to adjust to the darkness and the tiny amount of light coming through the window, the door swung open and someone flipped on the overhead light. Connor cursed and shut his eyes against a headache. A pair of feet approached him and he tried to move away.

Two more pairs of feet were entering as well. "Stand him up," an Italian accent reached him ears.

Connor didn't bother fighting against the two strong hoisting him to his feet by the arms—though that did hurt. He slowly forced his eyes to open and found himself staring face-to-lanky-motherless-lowlife-face of Vincenzo Coccotti. Coccotti took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke in Connor's face. "Bet you think you're some kind of God figure, right?"

Connor had this feeling that he just shouldn't reply, so instead he looked at the walls and the floor. There were many rusty water pipes lining the walls and the plaster was being eaten away at by mold. It wasn't the most pleasant place to be. "I'm not the happiest person right now," Vincenzo said plainly, almost as though the four men had gone out to lunch. "My brothers aren't happy either, right Joey?"

The man to Connor's left with every inch of exposed skin tattooed spoke up. "Not a bit, Vince."

"What about you Danny?"

The kid to his left sounded like his voice hadn't even changed yet. "Nope."

"Nope." Vincenzo took another drag and his gaze traveled to the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. "Now, you see, it's not a good thing that I'm not happy—my family's not happy—while your asshole twin is probably the dandiest son of a bitch on the streets right now." His two brown eyes looked menacingly at Connor. "And why is that, d'ya think?"

Connor continued starring defiantly at the floor, knowing that answering would just make him sound like a whiny bitch. He made no motion to acknowledge Vincenzo's presence. It was soon revealed to him that it wasn't a very smart idea. Coccotti took his lit cigarette and put it out on the side of Connor's neck, earning a curse.

"You ain't mute after all." Vincenzo slammed his fist into Connor's stomach and Joey and Danny let him collapse to the ground. Vince put a foot on the back of Connor's neck and pushed him all the way to the floor. "I know a lot about you, ya know. You're one of them Saints from New York that 'kill the bad guys,' right? Self-righteous prick." He lifted his foot and then kicked Connor sharply on the side of the head. "You're definitely not the old guy, so you're either Connor or Murphy." Connor could feel Vincenzo touching his hands, looking for the tattoo, he supposed. "'VERITAS,' you must be Connor."

There was a rush of movement above him while Connor was regaining his senses. He tried to pull himself up to his knees, but that proved to be quite the chore without the use of his hands. "Get him up," he heard Coccotti say.

Joey yanked Connor up to his knees by the hair so that again he faced Vincenzo, but the table was still turning away from Connor's favor. As much as he tried, the Irishman couldn't keep his mouth shut against an indignant cry of pain when a few hairs were pulled out of his head. Something metallic and horrifyingly familiar clicked against his teeth. Just as Connor registered the gun in his mouth he felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn't move.

"That's what I thought." Vincenzo cocked the pistol indifferently. "The game changes drastically with a gun in your mouth, doesn't it?" Joey was still holding Connor's hair in a tight fist, but the man couldn't focus on that pain. "So how about it?" Connor's eyes never left Vince's trigger finger. "You want to tell me where your brother went with my merchandise?"

The moment of horror in Connor's heart didn't fade when the pistol was withdrawn. He now realized that this was a very dangerous situation. "I wouldn't know," he snapped, keeping his voice steady and trying to act like he wasn't fazed.

The gun made contact with Connor's face so suddenly that even Joey hadn't seen it coming. The captive hoped to be left on the floor after that, so he even pretended to be knocked unconscious. That again was not the best idea at the time. Coccotti slammed his foot down on Connor's back with a loud curse in Italian.

"_Danny, __va__ ottiene__ una__ chiave.__ Joey, ha __tagliato__ le sue __mani __libere. _(1)" Vincenzo spoke in a stern voice and Danny left quickly. Joey drew a knife and cut the zip-tie from around Connor's wrists. "_Levarsi, asino _(2) Get up."

"_Vaffuncul_o (3)," Connor muttered under his breath. Coccotti heard it and responded by stomping harshly on Connor's back as he tried to get up. "Fuck you!" Connor abandoned the venture of being quiet. "Ya wouldn't be so fuckin' unhappy if just kept a better hold on yer fuckin' merchandise."

Vincenzo pulled Connor up by that collar of his shirt and tossed him against Joey. "_Benissim__o_ (4), you aren't going to help me then. You'll be my little _giocattolo_ (5) until I find your brother."

* * *

1. Danny, go get a wrench. Joey, cut his hands free. 

2. Get up, ass.

3. Fuck you

4. Fine

5. plaything (or) toy


	3. Intermission 1: Problems at Work

Nicholas: Just something I thought of. It's sort of an intermission between chapters. By the way, the first two chapters were written as one, so that's probably how the rest of the story is going to be. Enjoy.

* * *

"MacManus!" the secretary called from the front desk. The two brothers set down their magazines in unison and turned to their father who stood by the door. "We won't be long, Da," Murphy said.

"Aye, we just need to get this straightened up," Connor concluded. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table before getting up and following Murphy as he walked through the door next to the secretary's desk.

"Don't be getting' kicked out this time, boys." Their father walked out the front door just as they entered.

The room beyond was dark and the air was so thick that you could cut it with a butter knife. It was all too familiar to the twins, but that didn't mean they were the least bit comfortable with it. They both walked warily up to the desk at the opposite end of the room. "Ah, it's the Irish twins again, is it?" The smooth, female voice fought its way through the smoke to their ears.

"Hey Rei, how're ya today?" Murphy put on a smile, but the lady behind the desk knew better.

"Sit down boys." She stood from her seat and motioned to the two chairs in front of her desk. "I'm glad to see you boys are still healthy. Has it been as bad a week as I've heard?" She offered them each a cigarette, but they declined just as she expected they would.

"Ye have no idea," Connor muttered. "I thought the first few months of our fandom was bad, but this just puts the nail on the coffin." He and Murphy once again moved in sync as they sat down next to each other.

Rei twisted the dial on her lamp and the room lightened to a more comfortable brightness. "Sorry, Connor," she said, "I know Troy said it would be rough when you start out and then calm down after a few years, but the truth is you gain more fans closer to a decade after you invention." On her desk, she placed an overfilled binder and opened it to reveal a good many pictures and fanfictions. "Now let's see what you've had to endure the last few days."

Murphy sat up in her seat to try and see what was in the folder. "Is that picture Smecker and me in there?" he asked nervously. It was okay to discuss discomforts in Rei's office. She was like a therapist of sorts.

"Sorry, Murphy," Rei replied with an apologetic smile. "The artist asked for it back. Said she needed to add a few finishing touches."

Connor snickered quietly and Murphy shot him a dark glare. "I believe she was thinking of adding Connor." Rei gave him a reprimanding look and the snicker disappeared with its tail set firmly between its legs.

"Y'see, it's things like that why we're even buggin' ya today." Connor leaned forward in his seat seriously. "We really need a break from all this fanfic stuff. The things these people come up with er enough to drive a man nuts! Half o' them aren't even well thought out—or well-written!"

Murphy nodded in accent and leaned back in his seat smugly. "This one author couldn't even spell 'sure' right. And that lass has made me sleep with Connor five times already."

"Oh, I know who you're talking about." Rei flipped a few pages and settled on what looked like a restraining order. "I believe our business had that person k--. I mean…Yes well, you won't have to worry about her anymore."

"Please, Rei!" Connor was about to get out of his seat and beg on his knees. "Give us a break. Hold them off for just a couple days, before we lose our lives!"

"Or a couple years!" Murphy added, burying his head in his head.

Rei looked at both of them in turn, with a pitying look. "I'm sorry, boys, I can't do that." They groaned in unison and she felt a wave of sympathy shoot through her heart. "I'll tell you what. Find these people—" she wrote some names on a piece of paper "—and give them some inspiration and they might be able to write or draw some stuff to calm your nerves." She handed Connor the slip of paper and noticed that both brothers looked a bit happier.

"Oi! Sith Happens." Connor smiled at the name. "I know that one. Nice dramatic stories."

"At least she didn't take any fingers," Murphy muttered, shuddering at a memory that Rei couldn't place. "Thank ya, lady."

"Oh and here's some Vicodin," she searched through her drawer before producing a prescription bottle. "Just in case things get tough again."

"Rei, yer a Godsend," Connor said as he stood and took the bottle.

"All right, I'll see you guys next week then. And thanks for keeping the language on the PG side."

"No problem, luv," Murphy said, waving her goodbye before stepping out the door into the cool, thin air.

"See ya, Rei." Connor closed the door gently behind him as he left.


	4. A Place to Calm Down and Think

The rain pounded down on Mary's head so harshly that she wished she had stayed home that day. If she hadn't gone out she wouldn't have gotten mugged. If she hadn't gotten mugged she wouldn't have thought to go to the emergency room. If she hadn't gone to the emergency room, she wouldn't have been put at gunpoint by a strange Irishman. That night was just not her night. Joseph's jacket was the only thing keeping her from freezing. She kept glancing at the man beside her wondering how he wasn't even fazed by the cold wearing just a t-shirt.

He stood close enough to hold a gun at her side without it being seen by people they passed. She did her best not to show him that she was scared to death at the concept of a bullet inside her. "Where did ya say yer truck was?" He spoke quietly just inches from her ear.

Mary swallowed once and took a deep breath to loosen her throat before answering. "J-just down the street here," she said just as loudly as she needed to be heard over the sound of the rain. "You wouldn't really hurt me." She tried to reassure herself. "Holding an innocent bystander at gunpoint is not your M.O."

"Accordin' to most general populous on the street I'm a psychotic serial killer," he muttered in her ear indifferently, "I think they said 'just buildin' up to killin' good, hard-working Samaritans.' Is that right."

"No, actually it was: 'just building up to massacring good, hard-working Americans." She wished she hadn't said it as soon as she heard herself say it. She sounded like one of those weird cult fans that follow the Saints everywhere. She noticed the strange look he gave her and shrugged. "I told you I saw you on the news."

The silence that fell between them was filled with an uncomfortable mix of distant conversations, their own footsteps and the rain increasing in intensity. After maybe ten more minutes, they reached her truck. The engine stalled twice before Mary managed to start it. "Piece of junk," she muttered, slamming her hand on the dashboard. Her anger was an act to distract herself from the gun aimed at her from the passenger seat.

She clenched the wheel until her knuckles were white, but that still wasn't helping her nerves. As much as she hated to think it, she wished she had never tried to help him. "Don't freak out," she heard him say to her. She wanted to say something nasty back to him, but something about the way he said it stopped her.

He was staring at her intently—mainly to make sure she didn't go nuts while she was driving as consequently drive them off the road. At the same time he was watching road outside the window, so that he knew where he was going.

"Where d-do you want me to take you?" He could tell that her voice was shaking from more than just the cold, and he felt horrible for it.

Then he realized that he couldn't remember how to get back to his flat. He looked away from her for a moment and noticed that nothing in the surroundings looked familiar. "I think…" He was slowly getting more and more frustrated as he tried to gather a sense of direction. "Fuck…fuckin' hell."

Mary chanced a funky half smirk at his confusion. "Something wrong?" she asked with a new feeling of comfort. "You're a long way from Boston, Dorothy."

He glared at her like a school boy being proved wrong, but valiantly trying to save his case. "S'pose that makes ye Todo," he shot back. He chanced another look out the windshield before placing the gun at point blank against her head. "Pull over."

She had no choice but to obey, though she wondered what exactly his intentions were. She pulled to the side of a deserted street. The buildings, allies and over-all look of the place had slum written all over it. She jumped slightly when the sound of the passenger door opening shook her from looking out the window. The Saint was halfway off the seat before he turned back to her.

"Do ya want this?" he offered her the gun. He didn't need it anymore. The look on her face almost made him laugh. "It isn't loaded." Her jaw fell slack with disbelief, and he took the moment of distraction to leave the gun on the seat and limp away.

The slam of the car door closing knocked her out of her daze. Mary picked up the gun carefully and checked it. It was most definitely not loaded. A rush of heat rose in her face so that she was sure steam was coming off of her. A mixture of anger, embarrassment and relief filled her head. She tossed the gun down and got out of her car quickly. "Hold on, Irish!" She caught up to him quickly because of his limp, and she no longer cared of how wet she was.

"Go on, leave me alone, lass," he shook her off when she grabbed his arm.

Mary persisted and grabbed him yet again. "No, I think I deserve a little explanation right now. You take advantage of my caring about you in the hospital to hold me at gun point so that I have to take you to some abandoned slum and I don't even get a fucking reason why you did that." Mary only ever cursed when she was extremely aggravated.

He squinted at her through the relentless rain until he was sure this was the same person. "I'm desperate right now," he stated darkly. "My brother's missin' and fer all I know he could be lyin' dead behind a dumpster somewhere."

Mary suddenly froze, and not from cold. She still clung to his sleeve, but her mind wasn't focused on that at the moment. The concept of someone being dead was not new to her. Just the way he had said it made her heart stop. He still had hope that he was alive; even though he was sure his brother was dead. "You really think you're going to find him all by yourself?"

His determination was suffering with all the hopelessness that she was revealing to him. "What else am I gonna do? I can't go to the police, they'll just arrest me. Who else would even bother helpin' me?"

"I would," Mary stated in an "uh, HELLO" fashion. She smiled at the weird look she got. "I know what it's like to lose a sibling, so I'll be damned if I let you walk off without help. More importantly, you need some where to dry off and calm down so you can think straight, so whether you like it or not, I'm taking you home with me." She rethought after she said. "That didn't really come out right, but you get the picture."

"Who says I can trust ye?"

"You probably shouldn't trust me, I'm a reporter, but I have access to a warm home and a phone, which you might need." She sighed when she saw she was not swaying him. "I trust you enough not to put a loaded gun against my head, so have a little faith. I won't sleep well tonight if you just walk off into oblivion."

"Why?"

"Just get in the truck."

* * *

Her apartment welcomed her warmly from the rainy night and she appreciated it, no matter how small the place was. She tossed her keys onto the end table by the door and held the door open for her new friend. "You can make yourself at home for awhile. If you want some dry clothes, I might be able to find something for you." She added the next bit to herself. "You look about his size."

"Who is he?" The Irishman took careful steps past the door, as though he was afraid that something might jump out and bite him. He glanced at the pictures that almost completely covered the walls. Some were photographs and some were drawing (good ones at that).

She pretended that she hadn't heard him. "What's your name anyway?"

He respected her privacy, so he didn't pry. "I thought you knew everything about us." He was still looking at the walls, amazed at all the images. Some were framed and others were just stuck to the plaster with thumbtacks. "Murphy MacManus."

"I'm Mary Barrette. Used to be Mary Bartolucci, but people seem to have a hard time saying that." She led him—by way of grabbing his hand and pulling him to get him away from the pictures—to the living room. "It isn't much, but it's what I call home. Are you hungry?"

"Nah, I'm good." Their mood to each other was suddenly very indifferent. Neither meant to say anything that would offend the other, so Murphy just decided not to say anything.

Mary didn't like the silence one bit, so she strove to avoid it. "Well, I'm about to make dinner, are you sure?"

"Dinner?" he raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it like 3:00 in the mornin'?"

She shrugged at how strange it must have sounded to him. "I usually get in late at night, so dinner is sometimes an early breakfast." A faint rumbling sound cut her off as she spoke and she smirked when she realized it was his stomach. "Sure you're not hungry?"

He blushed a shade of pink and patted his stomach lightly. "Maybe a bit hungry," he muttered so that she barely heard him. Then she saw him smile for the first time that night. She hid a wince at how sad even his smile seemed to be.


	5. Pain and Spectacle

Nicholas de Vilance: Thank you to all that reviewed. Sorry for the mess up on the Italian in chapter 2. I can't figure out how to say wrench. If BelhavenOnTap knows, I'd appreciate sharing in the knowledge. Don't feel jealous of Sith Happens just because of my mentioning her in the intermission. Just thought I owed for the fact that I got a review about five minutes after I posted the story from her. Thanks to betty-boo and lochrann as well for their reviews. Enjoy!

P.S: I am against severing of the limbs, just so I can put you guys at ease.

* * *

Joey had tossed Connor against the wall like a sack of potatoes and held him there, pushing his face into the wall. Both Joey Connor's arms still. He felt increasingly uncomfortable with Vincenzo patting down every part of his body. The wop paid particular attention to Connor's legs and actually pulled off each of Connor's shoes and checked them.

"Ever heard of shoe powder," Coccotti said disgustedly, smelling the harsh stink emitting from the Irishman's boots. Then he found Connor's dagger hidden in a pouch taped onto the side of his left shoe. "Well now, what have we here?" He ran the blade across his thumb to check the sharpness. "What else do you have on you?"

Vincenzo handed the knife to Joey who immediately put the tip of the blade against Connor's side. Coccotti checked all four pockets on Connor's pants, but only found five dollars, a pack of cigarettes and a rather large hole. Danny came back in with a wrench and he set it down next to an old pipe valve by the door.

"Much obliged," Vincenzo said smugly. Connor made a sharp attempt to tear his arms away from two of the three stooges here. Vincenzo socked him in the side with more strength than what may have been necessary. He stepped back while Connor fell and stepped around him. "Have at him boys."

Danny and Joey took turns beating all holy hell out of Connor. The most horrible thing about the situation was that Connor actually got to the point where he was waiting for Danny to hit him instead of Joey. Danny was too small to cause anything painful, but Joey made him feel like he was being pounded with mallets. He managed to push himself into a corner away from them.

He lost count of the blows when his vision started to blur. He may have lost consciousness a few times, but he came to his senses at a swift kick to his head. He used his arms to cover his face at one point and then finally just grabbed the next thing to make contact with him.

Connor clung to the leg of whoever it was that kicked him and then twisted it in a 180 degree semi-circle. Danny lost his balance and fell face first onto the floor with a sharp cry of surprise. Taking advantage of the moment of confusion, Connor forced himself to his feet and pushed himself forward just enough to get a good punch at Vincenzo.

The Italian's gun went off like a whiplash and everything that followed seemed to be slow motion. Joey gripped both of Connor's arms from behind while Vincenzo stumbled a few steps backwards. Danny got up and ran for the door as fast as lightening. He looked scared stiff—as if he'd just got shot in the foot.

No, actually the bullet went straight through Connor's left thigh. The poor man shouted and cursed at the top of his lungs as his leg buckled painfully beneath him. He clutched his leg, but that didn't help. He started to hate this whole situation. He hated Vincenzo Coccotti. He hated guns. He hated Detroit. Most of all, he hated the fact that this all boiled down to being Murphy's fault.

Suddenly time started up again and a foot pushed him flat on his back. "Put your hands on the floor," Vincenzo Coccotti demanded venomously.

Connor stared up at him, tears forming in his eyes. He thought it was so childish to cry, but together with the pain and Connor hating everything at the moment, his heart hurt too much to hold it in. At first he was going to just do what he was told, not wanting to get shot again, but then he rethought it. He lifted his hand and stuck his middle finger up at his captor. "Yer just fuckin' angry because ya hate God…" He didn't know why he said it, but it seemed to fit the moment. Said moment ended with a sharp kick to his head followed by painless, dark unconsciousness.

* * *

Drip, drop…Drip, drop…There was a steady patter of rain outside somewhere and that rain was seeping through the frame of the little window on the wall in the basement of the Coccotti house. Drip, drop…A steady, even flow of dripping water hit Connor's cheek, slowly waking him up. For a moment he actually thought he had fallen out of bed, but he got a rude awakening. He so wanted to believe that Murphy was standing over him, pouring water on his face to annoy him. He opened his eyes and looked around and even though he couldn't see, wanted to take the very image of the room around him and tear it into little pieces. That proved a bit difficult with his hands once more tied behind his back.

Connor felt a stinging at the corners of his mouth and also noticed that he wasn't wearing his shirt. With this information he concluded that the fabric that he hands were bound with and his mouth was gagged with was made of what used to be a well-worn article of clothing.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could once again see the outline of a door. He half expected the three stooges—as he had rechristened them—to come in a flip a light on again. When it occurred to him that that wasn't happening, he laid his head down on the concrete floor again and shivered in how cold the room was. Every little move he made caused some part of his body to hurt like a motherfucker.

His eyes closed automatically. For some reason he wanted to believe that simply pretending that this wasn't happening would make it so that he was back in his bed. He almost missed living with Ma in Ireland. He definitely missed Murphy. He couldn't remember ever being away from him for so long. It must have been early into the morning by now.

A sudden, and rather furry, presence near him revealed itself as it brushed up against his cheek. Connor opened his eyes and saw a little, gray, wet mouse just inches away from him now, sniffing the ground. It picked up something that might have been a crumb of something and nibbled it for a second.

After a few seconds the rodent looked up at Connor and stared straight into his eyes. 'Where did you come from?' Connor thought, being that he couldn't say it. The rat paused as if thoughtful and then took its crumb and stood on its rear paws. It took a few awkward steps and Connor laughed at bit.

'What a sight,' he thought, 'I get my own entertainment.' As soon as he thought it, though, the rat returned to all four paws and scurried away into the darkness.


	6. Intermission 2: Prologue

Nicholas de Vilance: This was actually the prologue to a stage adaption I was writing of the movie. I just wanted to put something funny in the beginning of the play to put people's minds at ease. I even borrowed something from Troy Duffy's commentary on the film. Well, enjoy!

* * *

_CONNOR and MURPHY enter USL and walk in sync to CS. MURPHY is listening to an MP3 player and CONNOR is holding a letter. CONNOR looks out at the audience as if startled by their presence._

CONNOR: Well, fuck me. I didn't expect so many people to show up. _elbows MURPHY when he doesn't get a reply_

MURPHY: Hey, don't interrupt the Dropkick Murphys.

CONNOR: Ya only like 'em 'cause they borrowed yer name.

MURPHY: _looks out at the audience with the same reaction as CONNOR_ Well, shit! That's a lot of people. The play en't that good.

DIRECTOR: _from audience_ Hey, what the hell are you two guys doing on stage right now?

CONNOR: Lighten up, Nick, we're just havin' a bit o' fun.

MURPHY: Yeah, it is St. Patty's Day.

DIRECTOR: Well, make yourselves useful, why don't you, before I fire you and change my play to Interview with the Vampire.

_Both brothers look insulted and frightened._

CONNOR: Ya wouldn't!

MURPHY: I think he would…

_The DIRECTOR sits down and watches once more while CONNOR and MURPHY continue with their skit._

CONNOR: Okay, fer those of ya who don't know proper theater etiquette, please refrain from flash photography and videotaping o' tonight's performance.

MURPHY: And also, don't forget to silence all electronic devices, pagers, watches, cellular telephones…_is suddenly distracted by the paper in CONNOR's hand_ What've ya go there, Con?

CONNOR: Oh, right. _opens the letter. _Well, it seems we got letter from the church.

MURPHY: Really?

CONNOR: Aye, "256 Reasons why You are Going to Hell."

_They both glance at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. DIRECTOR shoots up from his seat and runs on stage._

DIRECTOR: All right you two, OFF! Get off my stage until the show starts!

_Two brothers escape USR, still laughing and carrying on. The DIRECTOR snatched the letter._

Okay, now that that's settled with._ reads letter and chuckles a bit._ Signed, "Sincerely, the Pope." Now that's something to be proud of…

_Exit to the audience._


	7. Pictures and Pizza

Nicholas: I've been updating quickly, haven't I? Well, I hope you like my story so far. So for being so mean to pour Connor, but for the effect it might get worse...Just skim over those parts if you're too scared. I'm pondering whether or not I should continue posting intermissions every two chapters...Review me with your opinion!

* * *

Mary stuck a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner. "Not much of the cook," she explained sheepishly. Then she went to the guest room to get some clothes for Murphy. A lot of thoughts went through her head as she entered the dark room. It had once been her brother's room. She hadn't changed anything about the room. Just the name. It was no long Toni's room; it was the "guest's" room. Everything that she saw in the room she realized she hadn't seen almost a year. The door had stayed closed ever since the…accident. Every picture she had framed and set on the nightstand was still there, collecting a fine layer of dust. Every picture she had hung on the wall was there staring down at her, forgotten souls unhappy with their upkeep.

She couldn't take it for long. She tried to be quick about getting the clothes, but she lingered glancing at each photo and drawing in turn—every smiling face she'd captured with a camera and every beautiful pose her charcoal had produced. "Oh, sod it," she muttered angrily, "He's gone, now get over it." She grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans out of the chest of drawers and stepped quickly for the door. She paused just a moment before she could turn away from the pictures. They were all of her brother. She liked it that way.

It wasn't hard to find Murphy in the small apartment. He was in the hallway again, looking once more at the well-decorated wall. His eyes stared long and hard at each one, taking in every detail of every image. She thought he looked so intrigued that she didn't want to interrupt him. However, the floor was getting wet from his clothes dripping everywhere.

"They don't do tricks," she said to him. Her voice was quiet even in her own ears. She was almost surprised that he heard her. "No matter how hard you stare, they won't move."

He jumped slightly when she first spoke. "Oh…sorry, I…" His hand absently went to his neck nervously. "I got distracted."

She laughed a little at his childishness, finding his apology just a bit out of place. "Here, you should fit in these." She handed him the clothes. "Sorry, but I couldn't find any socks…but…you know."

He nodded understanding and took the bundle of dry clothes gratefully. "Thank ya much…what about you?"

"Oh, I'm pretty dry. The jacket kept most of the rain off me…You didn't have a jacket so I thought…Yeah." She found that the conversation was very awkward. "You can change in the bathroom…or the guest room."

"Um, where's the guest room?"

"To the left of the bathroom," she said, a small laugh behind him voice. "Yeah…because to the right is my room, and I'd just prefer you not go in there…just a privacy…thing." She realized that she was babbling and cleared her throat uncomfortably. An awkward silence passed.

Mary found that she was staring and soon lost herself in the sadness of his eyes. She was afraid, but no matter how afraid she was, she couldn't bring herself to look away. She didn't even know what the fear was, and she thought she'd find it if she looked longer. She looked long and hard, trying to decipher what exactly he was about. What could have happened to his brother? Connor…was that his name? Yeah, Connor…poor Connor.

A loud screech emitted from the timer on the oven and completely shattered the silence. Mary jumped about three feet into the air. Murphy shook his head as if he was coming out of some kind of trance.

"Um…yeah, w-well, I'll go change then." He avoided her eyes.

"Yeah, okay…I'll go get the pizza." Mary ran into the kitchen and left him to find his way around the apartment.

* * *

She let the pizza cool on the stove for about ten minutes, wondering what exactly was taking Murphy so long. 'Maybe all the pictures in the guest room,' she thought with a smile. Just when she was starting to cut the pizza he came in, looking a bit uncomfortable in the pale pink shirt and loose jeans. 

"It's says AA," he commented.

Mary smiled and nodded slightly. "It was my brother's. He was in Alcoholics Anonymous for a while." She bit back a laugh as he pulled a bit of the shirt up to sniff it. "Don't worry; it hasn't been worn in a long while."

"Nah, I just think it's a bit ironic for an Irishman to go 'round sportin' an AA shirt."

She giggled softly and handed him a paper plate with a slice of pepperoni pizza on it. "It looks good on you. I think he used to have a Guinness shirt. That might've been a bit more appropriate, but I don't know where it went."

"Where is your brother?"

The question caught her a bit off guard. She hadn't expected him to ask, or she just hadn't wanted to talk about it. "He…he was killed in a hit and run accident about a year ago." She forced a smile to keep the mood from going sour, but it had. "I prefer not to talk about it."

"Aye…" He seemed to understand all too well. The thought of her losing her brother made the concept of him losing Connor horrifyingly real. "You take a lot of pictures. And are all the drawings yours, too?"

"Yeah, I like drawing more than I like taking pictures. The wall you keep staring at is my photo/memory album." Mary pushed the thought of her brother away as she had trained herself to do in the year after his death. "Those pictures are the ones I like the most."

"It's nice…" Murphy looked at the plate in his hands. Though he was very hungry, he couldn't bring himself to eat it. "Not to be rude, but I don' really want to stay here any longer than I have ta." He felt unbelievably guilty about his brother and couldn't really even pretend he was at ease until he knew what had happened to Connor. "Sorry, Lady, I'm just—"

"Call me Mary, and you're not leaving," she demanded, "you are not setting one foot outside of that door until you get some rest. You've been up all night and you look like hell." She thought the look on his face was priceless, but she didn't want to laugh at him. He obviously was not used to being bossed around. "You said something about Vincenzo Coccotti, right? Well, if you promise to get some sleep, I'll try and find a file on him. I know the office still has something on him."

He smiled slightly and nodded. "I don' want ya goin' to a lot o' trouble over me, all right."

She gave him a rather stern look and crossed her arms in front of her. "MacManus, I'm serious. You're no good to anyone if you kill yourself. Now, you can go ahead and sleep in the guest room. I'll find out what I can." She could see the skepticism in his eyes. "I want you help, I really do. It hurts to lose a brother. No one should have to suffer not even knowing where their twin is."

Murphy hesitantly took a bite of pizza. He still wasn't too sure about her intentions, but it was almost impossible for him to pass up a place to sleep. His head was pounding again. "Yer all right, Mary."

"Thanks, Murphy."


	8. Good Morning, Alexandria

Nicholas: 20 is the most reviews I have ever gotten on a story!!! Thank you so much, you guys! I've decided to keep doing intermissions, so that's what the next chapter will be. If I change my plans, you guys will be the firsts to know…Will give hugs for reviews!

* * *

Connor must have been unconscious or something to that effect. When he opened his eyes he could see just a bit more light than was usual coming in through the window above him. He looked grudgingly around the room, his arms starting to get stiff with cold. His entire body was aching, and his head was no better off. He turned from his side to his back and stared up at the decaying ceiling. A shape formed out of the darkness, and he knew for certain it was in his head. It was a rosary. 

He blinked once and it disappeared—he was a bit sad about that. He tried to forget that he was locked in a basement of some nutcase's house, but couldn't. He thought about the rat from before and smiled. Smiling made the cuts on his mouth from the gag sting.

He reached up and gently rubbed the sores with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, a thought crossed him mind. "My hands were bound," he muttered, rubbing the sore skin on his wrists. He sat up stiffly and looked around. Between himself and the wall he saw his rat friend sitting comfortably back on her haunches nibbling at a long bit of cloth that must've been what was left of Connor's restraints. "Fuck me…"

He looked around once more, not willing to believe he'd been set free by a rat. "Well, not free." He stared at the door and noticed that there was no knob. He looked back at the rat. She was looking up at him as though she expected something. "Thanks," he said. Then he laughed, thinking it was silly to talk to a rat.

She dropped back down on all fours and climbed up onto Connor's lap, jumped down and took off for the door. She placed her paw on the door and looked up like she was looking for something.

Connor got slightly dizzy for a moment, so he lay back down—though he kept watching her. "You look like an Alexandria," he commented, almost to himself. She did turn back and look at him again, and he would have liked to believe that she nodded. That was just stupid.

Newly christened, Alexandria scurried over to him and scratched his shoulder lightly and curiously. He just watched the creature in interest, not wanting to scare her off. He began to think animals were a lot like women. Make one quick move to soon and they take off like a cat from a dog.

Alexandria looked up quickly and sniffed the air. Her ears were as big as they could get. Connor tried to hear what she was listening for, but couldn't. He started to worry when she took off for the wall. Staring after her, he noticed a dark spot in the wall that she disappeared into. He couldn't look long, because the door slammed opened.

Connor had expected Coccotti, but instead it was Danny that came through the door. He would have stood up and beat the shit out of the kid, but his leg was throbbing still. Besides, Joey came in close behind and crushed any hopes of escape. Along with hopes, Joey basically crushed Connor's nose, pissed that the Irishman had managed to get out of his restraints.

Connor fought like a rabid dog this time, pushing the giant of a man away from him. He wouldn't be pushed around so easily anymore. He was going pretty well until Danny snuck up with that stupid wrench and wacked him upside the head with it. "Ya bastard!" Connor shouted viciously.

The quiet of Connor and Alexandria had officially shattered to make way for the Italians. Joey managed to pull Connor out of the corner he'd pushed himself into. That wrench met Connor's back this time and all he could do was bite back a holler at the pain. This time Joey had handcuffs—don't ask where they came from, Danny couldn't even tell you. Once his arms were fastened once more behind his back, Connor felt himself being pulled to his feet.

Connor barely got a glance of Danny dragging a metal chair into the room before he was shoved down onto it. Joey undid Connor's jeans, yanked them off, searched the pockets again and then took the belt out of the loops before tossing them on the ground in the hall outside the room.

Danny, who had been in and out of the room four times already, came in once more with duct tape and used it in excess to attach Connor's legs to the chair legs. It was then that Vincenzo made his grand entrance.

"Buona Mattina(1), Asshole," he said with a smug smile on his face. Connor wanted to knock all his teeth out. "You're brother is one slippery bastard, I'll give him that."

'Meaning that you haven't found him yet,' Connor thought victoriously. His main worry that night had been triggered by a dream of Murphy's body on an autopsy table. He must have been smirking because Coccotti gave him a glare.

"I'll find the cock sucker; you can be sure about that."

Connor felt Danny behind him, taping his hands down to the back of the chair. "Stop talkin' about him like that, ya mother fucker."

He heard someone snicker, that god damn smug smile was back on Coccotti's face. "I'm giving you another chance, Mick. There is a chance that I might need your help with this shit after all. Are you going to me where your brother is, or what?"

Connor thought for a moment, made like he was going to answer and then spat on Vincenzo's shoe. "Ever heard o' the bond between twins? What the fuck makes ya think I'd tell ya, even if I knew?"

* * *

1.Good Morning 


	9. Intermission 3: I hate Airports

Nicholas: My friend came up with this idea and asked me to right it...This isn't very well written, so I think I might do it again, just to make it a bit funnier.

* * *

Denis scanned the terminal for empty seats and grumbled to himself. The only available seat was one in between a fat, black man and a malnourish, white computer nerd. He preferred standing, thank you very much. The wait was supposedly only fifteen minutes more. Knowing airports, he had another hour. 

A baby started crying somewhere near him. Some teenage girl was shrieking with laughter. "I hate traveling," he muttered, instinctively reaching for a cigarette. The no smoking sign caught his eye for the fiftieth time. "Jesus Christ, where can I smoke?"

Just the a body stumbled into his back sending him flying forward and just as this happened a stewardess passed in front of him. He got a face-full of breasts and then a quick smack to his face when he tried to apologize. "Whore," he muttered at her back as she walked away. He turned around to the cause of his currently stinging cheek and saw two men staring dumbly at him.

They looked like they could've been really close brothers, but the matching outfits gave them away as twins. The one with the messy hair was first to explain himself, meaning he'd been the one to run into Denis.

"Fuckin' Christ, I'm sorry," he said with a very pronounced Irish accent. "It was Murphy's fault." He pointed behind him to his brother.

"Fuck ya, it was not," the other defended, socking the first in the shoulder. "It was yer bet, ya fuck head."

The first guy grabbed Murphy and pushed him toward a column. "Really? If I do remember correctly it was ye who couldn't keep yer eyes off the lady behind the counter." The comment earned a sock in the chest.

Their little scrap continued for a few moments until they practically tumbled onto the floor. At which point, Denis grabbed the nearest one to him and hefted him off the other. People were starting to stare. "All right, guys, it doesn't matter that much." He pulled the one called Murphy to his feet and then turned away to straighten out his own jacket. He started to walk away from the two Irishmen, hoping to whatever God there was that they didn't have the same flight.

* * *

Connor and Murphy soon noticed on their tickets that their seats weren't next to each other. "Leave it ta airports ta fuck up the simplest requests." Connor watched out the window while the planes took off and people bustled around the plane they would soon be on. "I hate flying."

"Yeah, I know," Murphy said with a smirk. "Ya piss yer pants every time we fly." He dodged a fist aimed at his face, but it was a half-hearted attack. "We could probably ask whoever is in between us to move over a seat. Most people are nice enough."

Connor shrugged and fumbled with his lighter in his jacket pocket. "If all people were like that guy over there, I'd be scared shitless ta go out o' my house every mornin'."

"I hear that."

Their flight was called at that moment so they gratefully went towards the gate. "Wait, I'll be back in a flash," Connor said before he took off for the sunglasses stand. He had just realized he was still wearing these ones that he'd tried on. Of course Murphy waited for him.

They were amongst the last to board. Connor had to keep Murphy from flirting with the stewardess. "Don' get us thrown off the before we take off. Flirt all ya want once we're in the air." They followed the numbers as they went down the aisle and when they to their seats they almost turned around and ran.

Denis looked up and saw them and quickly turned back to his book, wishing he hadn't just seen who he'd thought he'd seen. A few seconds passed and he looked up again. The two were checking their tickets and arguing quietly in some weird language. When they turned back to him they looked like they wanted ask him something, but were too nervous. Denis liked that, for some reason. "Yeah, what?"

Murphy spoke up this time. "D'ya think ya can move over a seat so I can sit next to me brother?"

Denis smiled for moment and made like he would move before saying, "Fuck you."

They exchanged glances and Murphy just shrugged. Connor gave him a glare and then turned back to Denis. "Please, mister, we need ta sit next ta each other. It's a comfort thing."

Denis closed his book and handed it to Connor. "I think you should read this."

Connor looked at the cover and would've laughed at it if it wasn't directed at him. The title "Shut the Fuck Up," by Denis Leary. Murphy looked over his shoulder and stifled a laugh.

"Wait a minute," Murphy said. He took the book, looked at the guy on the cover, and then looked at Denis. "Yer Denis Leary. Holy fuck!" He turned to Connor. "I knew he looked familiar!"

Connor looked very confused while Murphy went to sit next to his new friend. "Who the fuck is Denis Leary?"

"I am, Dunsky," Denis said, taking one of the magazines out of the pockets on the back of the seat in front of him.

"Well, I figured that, thank ya very much." Connor sat in the aisle seat, which was nicely left for him. He looked at the book in his hands again and sighed. "What are ya, some comedian?"

"Yeah, actually, I am." Denis felt Murphy poking him in the shoulder. "What?"

Murphy ignored the annoyance in Denis' voice. "Sorry about earlier. Connor can't keep his balance."

Connor fought an urge to smack him, but then just laughed quietly to himself. "I suppose it en't normal fer people to fall over when someone shoves them over." He handed Denis the book back.

"No, keep it," he said, "Please do not give that back. The thing is the biggest practical joke. I only wrote it because my wife thought it would be funny."

Connor handed it to Murphy and started to read it. Murphy found it hilarious, but that was just because he tends to be easily amused. Connor stared at the no-smoking sign. He hated that stupid sign. It was lit up as if the captain would at some point turn it off so you could smoke. It was just a stupid tease.

He stopped a stewardess as she passed. "Would you know when we're gonna take off?"

"The captain should be making an announcement about that soon, so please be patient."

As if on cue, just a she walked away the intercom blared on. "This is your captain speaking. There is a delay in taking off. We might not get off the ground for the next hour. As soon as I get an update, I will send it straight to you, our passengers. Until then, there will be drinks and snacks for sale."

"Ya know they could at least let us smoke." Murphy glared at the no smoking light above his head. "Does that light ever turn off?"

"Nah, it's just there so non-smokers can piss us smokers off." Denis was chewing on the end of a pen to replace the feeling of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "I don't get it," he continued, "they say 'no smoking,' but I guarantee you, if the plane is going down this is the first announcement you are going to hear: 'This is your captain speaking, light 'em up, 'cause we're going down. I got a package of Camel non-filters, see you on the ground, folks.'"

Connor snickered quietly and reclined his chair the short distance it would go. "It's all just to torture us."

"'Least they let us drink," Murphy stated, suddenly holding a Heineken. "That's something ya gotta be happy about."

"Give it a year or two," Denis said. He flipped pages in the magazine that he wasn't really reading and tried to focus on the articles, but the sound of the plane starting to taxi caught most of his attention. "You two guys going home?"

"Nah, we're gonna visit some relatives." Connor let up on clutching the armrest, having not expected the plane to start moving. "You?"

"I'm on vacation."

"Vacation ta Ireland?"

"The only place you can get piss-faced drunk and not get kicked out of the bar, am I right?"e He


	10. Pain in the Dark

Nicholas: Things are going to start slowing down, I warn this in advance. After Christmas, it will be school work and clean up and a bunch of shite like that. So, yeah…

* * *

Mary practically had to shove Murphy into the guest room and fought herself from locking the door from the outside just to keep him in one place so he wouldn't wear a hole in her already worn carpet. "I'll be back in about a half hour," she told him, "so try to get some sleep. I'm just going to get my laptop from the office." He looked slightly pissed at her, but it would pass. "Do I have to lock the door?"

He glared up at her from the bed he was sitting on for a moment. "If ya want the door ripped off o' the hinges, by all means, lock it. Leave it unlocked and I promise I won' leave the apartment."

"Thank you, Murphy," she said, not a bit fazed by his voice. She left without another word.

Murphy lay on the bed for a long time just thinking. He shifted positions thirty-seven times, but still wasn't comfortable. Maybe it was all the pictures staring at him. Maybe he was pondering the uncanny similarities between Tony and Mary. Sure they were brother and sister, but that didn't mean they should be exact copies of each other. Murphy knew that even he and Connor were pretty different.

He shoved his arms behind his head and sighed. "Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't see the faces in the frames, but he knew they were there. Through the darkness he saw the shape of a rosary appear. He blinked once and it was gone.

Suddenly a pain erupted in his stomach like he'd been hit with something heavy falling off a seventy-story building. His entire body curled in on itself in agony and he accidentally rolled off the bed, meeting the floor harshly. Nothing took away from the pain tearing at his insides. He pressed his head against the floor and pushed his fist into his gut to try and push it away. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. His mind went around in circles, doing dog tricks.

"Connor?" he squawked, grabbing at his own hair so hard that he might have ripped it out. He thought he was going to die for a moment, when all of the sudden, it went away.

The fear didn't, of course, but the pain was gone as quickly as it had come. Murphy still thought—rather, felt like—he was going to die. He got his feet under him shakily and pulled himself up. A few stumbled steps brought him to the bedroom door and also gave him a bit of balance back. He walked weakly out of the room and found his way to the kitchen in the dark. Finding a glass in the dark was a whole other story.

After a few wrong tries, he found the right cupboard, got a glass and filled it with water from the sink. Five seconds later he had emptied the glass and started to fill it again. Then he rethought that and set the glass on the counter. His head was pounding uncontrollably while he walked out of the kitchen. He sat down on the couch and shut his eyes.

A few moments later he was asleep, though he hadn't meant to be. The door opened swiftly, but he didn't wake up. Mary was in the process of trying to do three things at once—take off her coat, hold a laptop, and close the door—until she spotted Murphy on the couch. She stopped for a second and then slowly continued what she was doing. She managed to sort everything out accordingly and then she set the laptop on the coffee table. Then she went to the hallway closet and pulled out a blanket to cover Murphy with. All that being done, she sat down next to him, pulled her laptop onto her lap and turned it on.

He didn't stay asleep for very long after he felt something warm on him. He stirred slightly and opened his eyes, forgetting where he was for a moment. When he looked around and saw Mary, he remembered. "What're ya doin'."

She looked up, definitely startled out of her wits. She had instinctively grabbed her computer as if for safety. As she came to remember that it was only Murphy beside her, she settled down. "Looking up Vincenzo Coccotti. The press that I work for did a story on him recently, and anyone will tell you that information the press is holding back is most likely the most accurate stuff you'll find—concerning certain things, that is."

Silly as it was, Murphy felt a need to pull the blanket closer around him. There was still that fear lingering in his from that pain. He was considering telling Mary about it, but she probably wouldn't care that much.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Something told her he was bothered, and she always trusted her intuition. "You look lost."

"I'm fine."

She pretended to believe him and continued searching the many files on her computer and the many snid-bits on the internet that she could find concerning Coccotti. It wasn't too hard. There was plenty about the crimes the notorious drug dealer had committed, but nothing about where he might allegedly live.

* * *

The sun was starting to come in through the window when Murphy finally stood. He stretched his legs a bit and finally thought to turn a light on. Mary winced at the change in brightness, but looked so intent on her computer screen that it didn't bother her. Murphy didn't want to bother her either. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Not a beer in sight. "How am I s'posed to live?" he grumbled quietly.

He checked a few cupboards, and when he finally found the pantry he found a pack of cigarettes staring him in the face like a godsend. He scooped that up and returned to the living room. "Hey Mary," he called, "Ya mind if I take on o' these?"

She looked up for a moment at the pack in his hand then shrugged. "Nah, go ahead." She turned back to the screen slowly. "There's matches under the sink."

She tuned him out again and returned to her search. The more she looked the more she didn't want to. There were things that fit into places that they shouldn't. There were cases that she never knew about that put things in a light she didn't want to see. In other, simpler words, Toni's death was looking less and less like an accident. She felt like she was reliving a bad suspense movie, except this was real. Finally, she closed the computer and stood. "Murphy, we're going out."

She didn't think that time had passed while she was online, but Murphy was already almost done with his cigarette. "Where're we goin'?"

"My friend Joseph is—well, he's actually my boss," she said, grabbing her jacket from the hook on the back of the door. "He should have a bit more on the Coccotti. So let's pay him a visit. And I can tell, you're bored as fuck right now, so let's go. You want a jacket, some gloves maybe."

"Why gloves?"

"You're tattoos are…well…they stand out." Mary held back a giggle as he examined the word on his hand. "You want to keep a low profile, you got to try and hide them."

He looked almost hurt at the idea, but shrugged and took the cigarette from his lips. "I never thought o' that."

"So you won't wear gloves then?"

"Nope."


	11. Finding a Brother, Losing a Friend

Connor felt the sting against his skin long after Coccotti had laid the belt down. He clenched his teeth so as not to focus on the pain burning his chest. The cracks in the ceiling made interesting designs when his mind wandered. He tried to distract himself, pretend he was somewhere else. The last thing he wanted to do was remember that his chest felt like it was being ripped apart. He closed his eyes.

The second he did a hand met his cheek with a smack. "Wake up, Irish," Coccotti demanded harshly. "You ain't hurt that bad." He grabbed Connor's jaw roughly and made the Irishman look at him.

Connor moved his head to one side quickly enough to wrench away and as he turned back he caught Vincenzo's finger between his teeth. He bit down until he tasted blood. When he let go, he spat the blood on the floor and tensed for a blow that met his temple with a dizzying effect.

"Vince," Joey spoke up. Connor had almost thought that he and Danny were mute ever since the first night. "My wife just called me and said I need to get home. I'll come back as soon as I can, though."

Vincenzo held his bleeding hand in silence for a few moments. He seemed to be thinking of how to say no without sounding like an asshole. He was apparently distracted that he almost lost his finger. "Tell the missus I said hello."

Joey left silently, while Vincenzo was looking more than pissed off. He glanced at Danny, who involuntarily took a step back. The sudden calm in the room was almost as scary as having a gun in your mouth. Vincenzo grabbed Connor's jaw again and forced his mouth open. Two fingers were forced down his throat, making Connor gag harshly. Vincenzo kept Connor's jaw open to keep from actually losing any digits. Then, fast enough so Connor had to think the register the movement, Coccotti pulled his hand back and smack the back of Connor head.

Poor Connor felt a rush of bile come up so rapidly that he couldn't hold it back. Both Italians stepped back to make room for the Irishman's illness as it splattered across the floor.

"Clean him up," Vincenzo demanded of Danny. "I'll wait for Joey to get back."

Connor wished very much that he hadn't been sitting down. He was literally covered in bile like an baby having it's first spaghetti dinner. His head swam so that he couldn't keep it up. He wasn't prepared, then, for the fast moving, freezing cold water that pummeled him without mercy. It stung his bare skin like knifes.

* * *

By the time Danny let up and used that wrench to close the pipe, Connor was dangerously numb. He couldn't feel his toes, and his fingers were going the same way. He was shivering so badly that he couldn't even pass out. The light went off and the door closed again and Connor was at the end of his rope with this. He tried to move, so as he wouldn't be so cold, but the duct tape held him down no matter how wet it may have been. He wasn't gagged, so there was one blessing. He closed him eyes and took a deep breath as tightness filled his throat—not caused by recent vomiting.

There was that shape of a rosary in his mind's eye, but he ignored it. Whatever hope he'd had, and whatever it was invested it, was currently running thin. He felt tears in his eyes, but these were not hateful, or angry. These were the tears of a condemned man resigning himself to his fate.

Just as he was desperately wanting to kick something in the unfairness of it all, he felt something clawing at his socked foot. He awkwardly looked down and saw his new friend there. "H-hello Ally," he said, with a bit of cold induce stutter. "Don' s'pose ya c-can chew through duct tape an' handcuffs?"

She looked up when he spoke and pulled at his sock. He must have looked outrageously pitiful. She disappeared under the chair for a moment and then he felt her climbing up the back of the chair. Rats really are amazing creatures.

Alexandria crawled carefully onto his shoulder and sat to rest just where his neck met his shoulder line. Connor thought she felt very warm and soft against his cold neck. The newfound comfort made him relax just a tad. He could feel her tail swipe across his shoulder blade and suddenly he missed Murphy so terribly that he really did start crying. A small sob escaped his throat, but it sounded loud in the silence. Ally's ears stood erect for a moment, but then she decided that there was no immediate danger. She shifted awkwardly until she could put a paw on his ear.

She fell asleep on his shoulder, but he remained awake, weeping quietly. No longer could he tell himself that this was just a nightmare. This time Murphy isn't asleep in the bed next to him. He couldn't crawl in next to his brother like he'd done when they were children. Now he just had Alexandria—whose company was much appreciated, but not sufficient.

He couldn't turn his head far enough to see the window, but he could just see that the walls were getting lighter. It was growing well into the morning, but Connor wouldn't be able to see it. Connor tried not to let his imagination go crazy, but even though the light was increasing he still managed to scare himself in the darkness. He clenched his eyes shut, but that just made it darker.

The minutes, or seconds, or hours that may or may not have passed still felt like a lifetime in the dark. When it was gone, however, it wasn't long enough. When Vincenzo came back in, Connor much preferred the dark.

"Good news!" Coccotti seemed as giddy as a schoolboy and just as mature. "I found your brother. The little shit head's hiding out with a girl friend." He stopped suddenly when he spied the huge rat on Connor shoulder. "What the fuck it that?"

Danny was just behind him, and took this opportunity to peek at the captive. "It's a rat, Vince," he muttered obviously.

Vincenzo elbowed him in the side. "That was a rhetorical question." He stepped up and grabbed Alexandria by the tail and hoisted it off Connor's shoulder. "Where the hell did this come from?"

"Put'er down!" Connor shouted. Ally was now wriggling spastically, trying to find the ground again.

Danny snickered quietly to himself. Vincenzo was laughing openly. "'Her?' Have you really lost your mind? This is a rat." He shook her a bit and Ally gave a loud terrified screech.

"Let'er go, ya fuck!" Connor pulled at his binds, though he knew he couldn't get free.

"Danny, take this out and drown it." Vincenzo handed Danny the reluctant rat. The poor kid reached out and took it carefully, not wanting to sacrifice any fingers. Vincenzo covered Connor's mouth to dim the Irishman's protests. "You are getting really annoying." He drew a knife and put it to Connor's throat. "I'm going to fuck with your brother a bit."


	12. Intermission 4: Ticklish

Nicholas: This isn't necessarily unrelated to the story, but it is an intermission. It isn't meant to be as funny as the others, but there is humor. Just be warned.

* * *

Something was grabbing him. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. Dread was a lump in his throat so that he couldn't scream. He was running, but couldn't go fast enough. A heartbeat pounded in his ears, but it wasn't his. Hot breath hit the back of his neck, but he didn't know where it was coming from. He tripped and fell to whatever ground was beneath him. He tried to scream when he felt something grab him again. It shook him.

"Connor?" He tensed and held him head protectively. He wanted it to go away. Whatever it was. "Connor!" He pulled away. How did it know his name? "Damn it, Connor!" He felt a sharp smack meet the back of his head. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in his room again. Murphy was standing over him with his fist raised as if to hit him again. "Can ya keep yer nightmares to yerself?"

Then Murphy saw tears in his brother's eyes. "Yer really scared aren't ya?" His eyes went from annoyed to concerned. "Well, c'mon. I know better than ta think ya'll be able to get any sleep tonight." He pulled Connor's blankets off him.

Connor and Murphy soon lay side by side in Murphy's bed with the blankets over their heads and a book and flashlight between them. They read in silence for a long time. "You want to tell me what it was about?" Murphy finally asked.

Connor remained silent. He looked at Murphy for a moment, but then back to the book. It was probably too soon for him to be comfortable with talking about it yet, and Murphy understood that. Still, the nightmares were getting ridiculous. Murphy smirked and poked Connor in a ticklish spot on his side.

Connor jumped sky high and glared at his brother. "Don' do it, Murph," Connor demanded dangerously. "I'm warnin' ye."

"Yer warnin' me, now?" Murphy poked him again and Connor tried to grab his hand to stop him from doing it again, but Murphy took advantage of his being on his back and basically sat on Connor's legs. The book hit the floor, but the sound of that was overshadowed by Connor's hysterical laughing as Murphy tickled him mercilessly. "I'm the bigger brother, right Con?"

Connor tried to speak through his laughing, and at the same time he tried to breathe, and tried to push Murphy off of him. "Get off," he managed breathlessly, "stop it!"

"Who's older, Con? Tell me who's older." Murphy didn't let up with the tickling. He leaned his head closer to Connor's face, to hear the response. "C'mon, Connor, who's older?"

"Ye are!" Connor was still laughing hysterically and his breath coming in gasps. "You are! Now stop it!" The moment Murphy got off him, his fist met Murphy's chest. "Fucker! I'll get ya back, ya little bastard."

"Boys!" The shout from down the hall made them hold each other in sudden fright. "Gets yer little asses in bed and go to sleep!" The crazed woman was shouting from the master bed room, the next door down from theirs.

"Yes ma!" They called in unison, their grip on each other loosening. They both sighed and finally lay down again; Murphy put the flashlight on the nightstand. "What an evil woman, always ruining our fun." He stared up at the ceiling and put his arms behind his head. There was a sharp bang sound on the wall between Ma's room and their room. She said something that they didn't hear. "How does she hear that? I'm whisperin'."

"She has a hearing aid she got from James Bond when she visited London last year." Connor felt Murphy elbow him in the head, but he didn't hit back. "She can turn it up so high that she can hear the O'Mearys fuckin' down the street."

Murphy laughed quietly, and actually had to put a hand in front of his mouth to hold it in. "Ya know ever since they got married, their bed's been cold." The two snickered quietly for a while. When everything settled down between them, Murphy turned on his side and faced his brother. "Ya feel better?"

"Aye, thanks Murph."

"Any time. Now shut the fuck up and get some sleep."


	13. Information, Negotiations

Nicholas: Quote to amuse you as it amuses me: "That comment about the king was taken out of context. I never said we were better than the king, just that we're more popular."

* * *

Mary rang the doorbell three times before Joseph answered the door. Murphy was getting ready to take off, with the impression that this guy was definitely not reliable. When the door finally did open, Joseph looked like he'd just gotten him. "Mary, I wasn't expecting you," he said, "It's pretty early." 

"Sorry, though, I did call from my cell," she replied. "Your wife picked up, and said she'd tell you." Joseph stood aside for her to enter. "Um, this is Murphy." She motioned for Murphy to follow her in.

It was a nice place—a lot nicer than Mary's apartment, but he wasn't going to mention that. He didn't like the look of Joseph though. Maybe it was just that he was scruffled because he'd just woken up. A light flicked on somewhere, but Murphy kept his eyes on Joseph.

"What is it that you needed, Mary," Joseph asked.

"I need every file you have on Vincenzo Coccotti." Mary was very straightforward with it. It made Joseph look a bit confused. "This is really important, Joseph. What do you have on him?"

Joseph stared for a moment, glanced at Murphy and then shrugged off a bad feeling. "Recent crimes he's been involved with and walked, profiles on people who allegedly work for him, profiles on people he's killed, tabloid stuff, really." He leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. "Why? Mary what is going on?"

She looked at Murphy as if to say "you explain it." He glared at her: "don't put me on the spot." She then sighed at his immaturity and turned back to Joseph. "His brother disappeared," she explained, "and we have reason to believe that Coccotti is involved in it."

Joseph looked a tad bit more concerned—but not as concerned as he should be, Murphy thought smugly. "All right, I'll get you what I have," he said, "wait here."

He disappeared in to a different room and Mary and Murphy were left in the living room with an air of tension. "You okay, Murph?" She used his nickname to make him feel at ease, but it didn't work.

He looked up at her and gave her a fake smile. "I'm fine," he lied.

"Really, what's wrong?"

"I don' like him," he muttered frankly. "He didn't sound at all compassionate talkin' about people Coccotti's killed. He probably would've left ya outside if he was awake enough to consider it. I don' like him."

Mary smiled hopelessly. "Is your brother like this?"

"Like what?" He was smiling this time.

"Stubborn and paranoid?" The question went unanswered and the awkward silence found them yet again. She looked away from him at length. "Is he as good looking as you?"

Murphy laughed quietly, glad that she was trying to make him feel better. "Nah, o' course not. I've always been the sexier. Joys o' being fraternal: we look different, so ya can compare." He thought this was a good chance to bring up something that had been bothering him. "Ye and Toni were twins, right?"

She gave him a strange look. "I don't think I told you that, but…yes we were."

"This may sound like a strange question, but were you identical or fraternal?"

The question caught Mary off guard so much that she took a step from him. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously. The look he gave her put her more at ease, though. He really was genuinely curious. "We were identical. Awkward, isn't it?"

Even though that had truly been the answer he'd expected, he really had no idea how it was possible yet. "How're ye female and him male?"

She looked at the floor, something unidentified nagging at her brain. The story was old and stale and she didn't like telling it, but she really wanted him to know. "I'll tell you on the way back, okay?" She looked up at him then, and saw a flicker of understanding flash in his eyes. He nodded.

* * *

Half way through the drive home, Mary had explained everything about Coccotti that she had just found out. Though, she did this after she had told him why her identical twin was male. (Nicholas: All you people in the audience, I ain't gonna tell you yet.) The trip grew silent for a long while, though, and the sound of the truck's engine sputtering on grew more and more annoying to Murphy. 

Mary could see it in his eyes. Ever since she met him in the hospital couldn't tell whether he was nervous because of his brother's absence, or just a nervous person. Her brother had never been nervous. He always knew what he was doing—even if what he was doing wasn't too smart. Just as she was starting to think she would go crazy with silence, a loud ring emitted from her phone.

She picked it up and it said on the screen that she had a pix message. "I never get messages," she commented with a laugh. She handed it to Murphy. "I'm against cell phones and driving in the same situation, so could you check it for me?"

He opened like he'd never seen a cell phone before and read the message. As soon as he opened the file a loud, badly recorded track of someone shouting in pain came from the speaker. Murphy was dreadfully silent, staring at the phone with wide eyes. "Pull over," he demanded quietly.

She parked at the curb outside a deli that was closed today. Before she had even fully stopped, Murphy got out of the truck and left the phone on the seat, open. She watched him for a moment, until she saw him punch a wooden board that was haphazardly put in front of the door of the deli as some makeshift security device. It cracked harshly.

Out of curiosity, she picked up her phone and looked at it. There was a picture of a man sitting in a metal chair with his legs duct taped to the chair legs and his arms somehow bound behind his back. The most startling thing about the image was not that he was only in his boxers, or even that he was nearly covered in bruises. What made her gag was that his chest was covered in blood and that the cuts that the blood came from were just visible and in the shape of letters. "Saint," it spelled. She couldn't look away, no matter how much she wanted to.

When she heard a loud noise, she snapped out of it and saw that Murphy had come back and slammed the door behind him. "He's alive," he said, failing at hiding his anger. "At least I know that."

She glanced at the picture once again—at the pained expression on that poor man's face—and she had to wonder how anyone could live through something like that. There was a gunshot wound in his leg, for crying out loud. "That's Connor?" Her throat had lost all hydration.

Murphy was about to say something—probably something profane—when the phone blared to life with "White Wedding" as the ringtone. Mary didn't recognize the number, but she answered the call and put the phone to her ear unsteadily. "Hello?"

"Is there a Murphy MacManus there?" an Italian accent voiced.

Mary had no doubt who had called her. She handed the phone to Murphy with a terrified expression. Murphy hesitated, swallowed the lump in his throat, and then took the phone.

"What?" He sounded more and more pissed. Mary had to wonder what the conversation sounded like on the other end. "Coccotti, where the fuck's Connor?" Whatever was being said was making Murphy nervous and mad at the same time. "Alright? He's not alright, ya cut him open, ya bastard!" Mary could barely hear a shout on the other end of the line. "Fine…Okay, I'll bring it…don' fuck me over, or I'll put a bullet in yer head…" He closed the phone at length and handed it back to her.

"What is it?" she asked, careful not to make him jump at her.

"We're gonna make a trade," he replied flatly, "I give him what I took from him and he gives me Connor."

"What did you take from him?"

"A whole hell o' a lot of heroin."


	14. Mutual Trade

Nicholas: Connor gets to come home finally. I hope you're all happy. You have no idea what I would've done to him. My friend Helena thought I should've made Coccotti ass rape him, but my other friend Amanda begged me not to let that happen...Amanda always wins. I'm very easily manipulated. Oh well...By the way, this isn't the end of the story. There's still quite a bit to go, so don't get the wrong ideas.

* * *

Connor hadn't heard the phone call, but he knew Murphy was on the other side of it. He really wished he could've talked to him. He needed some comfort after all this pain and torment. His entire body was officially in complete agony. To add to that, his heart ached like nothing else. He missed his brother, his rat, his Ma and Da, and above all else: he absolutely hated Vincenzo Coccotti.

"Come on, Mick," Vincenzo said as he returned at length. "You want to see your brother?" He set to work getting the duct tape off Connor, but didn't bother with the hand cuffs. Soon Danny came back and helped get Connor on his feet.

At the back of his mind, the only thing Connor could think about was that Alexandria was probably dead. He didn't have anything left in him to try and struggle, so he just let them drag him out of the room. It didn't quite register in his mind what was going on, but whatever it was, he hoped it ended well.

It may have been anywhere from when he felt the cold of the outside air hit his skin, to seeing Joey waiting by a car, even to when he was stuffed in the trunk, at some point in this venture, he lost consciousness. It was probably from blood loss.

* * *

Murphy didn't say a word when they left Mary's apartment the second time that day. He decided to drive, most likely to take him mind of the gravity of the situation. Mary didn't try and cheer him up. Something about the way he looked at the moment told her that he would snap. She was currently holding a gun he'd loaded before they left. "You aren't really going to kill anyone, are you?" she had asked, but he didn't bother answering.

The tension in that truck was so much that Mary had to open the window a little to get some air. She glanced at Murphy every now and then, to see if he was still fuming, but she could no longer tell. His eyes were emotionless, and everything about him could be mistaken for boredom.

They drove for maybe a half an hour before Murphy stopped outside some rundown warehouse in what looked like the most ghetto part of Michigan. He didn't get out right away. Neither of them even moved for a long time after the engine shut off. Finally Mary had to say something.

"I'm sure he's okay," she said.

Murphy looked up at her for a long moment. When he smiled, it was real. For the first time, she'd seen him really smile and for that moment, she felt completely at ease. Then he took the gun from her, shouldered his black bag and opened the driver side door. "Stay here." And then he was gone.

* * *

The trunk was actually felt like the most comfortable thing Connor had ever woken up in. He could not possibly know how long the drive was, but he was stiff by the time it ended. The trunk opened and a wave of freezing, cold air hit him like a hammer. Just as he was recovering from it, someone grabbed him and pulled him up. He managed to hit the ground awkwardly on his head for a moment before whoever had him took the time to get him to his feet.

Connor couldn't put weight on his right leg because that bullet was probably still lodged in his thigh. He limped unsteadily, leaning against who he now identified as Joey. There were two more people waiting in the dark warehouse along with Vincenzo and Danny. He didn't like the look of things. He was pulled along to a far wall and forced painfully to his knees. Joey put a gun against his head and told him to keep quiet.

A few minutes passed before Connor realized that these guys were waiting for something. A flame of hope flickered to life him his mind. If they were going to kill him they would have done it already. Maybe Murphy was coming…

The dark vastness of the empty warehouse was frightening—more so than the basement he'd become accustomed to. He closed his eyes and ignored the feeling of a gun against the back of his skull. He saw the image of the rosary again, and as it appeared, Connor heard a loud, echoing clang from somewhere in the building. His eyes opened involuntarily.

He couldn't stand this cold much longer, and the strain on his knees was starting to make his back hurt very bad. He twisted awkwardly to try and look around, but aside from the wounds on his chest screaming "HELL NO!!!" Joey kicked him in the side to keep him still.

Connor clenched his eyes shut against the pain; his head began to pound viciously. He could feel a warm, liquid-like feeling on his chest and knew he was bleeding again. His head swam, but he still tried to open his eyes.

He saw a person at the far end of the warehouse. As he approached, Connor saw his face. "Murphy," he muttered. Joey slammed the gun on Connor's head. Connor fell forward.

Murphy held his gun haphazardly, and slung the bag higher on his shoulder. He glared at the group of people across the room. A figure hidden in the darkness caught his attention as it fell to the floor. He could just make out who it was in the darkness. It was Connor. Under any other situation, Murphy would have ran up and held his twin and comforted him, but this was different. He showed no emotion because Coccotti wanted him to. Coccotti wanted him to break down at the sight of his brother in pain, but that wouldn't happen. He looked back at the main group of people under a fluorescent light.

"So you showed up." The man who stepped forward and spoke was Vincenzo. Murphy could tell by the smug, arrogant air the man possessed. "Your brother is alive, as promised. Where's my merchandise?"

Murphy held up the bag and his gun. "I want to see Connor," he said coolly.

"Put the gun in the bag," Vincenzo demanded. Some one behind him drew a pistol and cocked it with a resounding click. Murphy considered the repercussions of trying to shoo every man in here. Was it worth a shot? "Do it."

Murphy decided against it. He was risking a lot just by bringing a gun at all. Right now his main priority was getting his brother back. He took the cartridge out of the gun and placed both in the bag. "Where's me brother?" There was a bit of shuffling of people in and out of the light. A kid—who looked like he definitely did not belong with criminals—moved into the darkness and returned a few moments later supporting Connor's limp form. Murphy glared at the recognizable face of the man helping the kid.

Vincenzo didn't even look back at Connor at all. He kept his eyes trained on Murphy. "Mutual trade. You give me what I want, and I'll return the favor."

"I want to be out of this building with Connor before anyone even attempts to open this bag. Agreed?" Murphy wondered how far he could push this. He looked at Connor and noticed that he was unconscious. He set the bag down.

Joseph pulled Connor along heavily, though the kid next to him looked just as burdened. Murphy tried not to be distracted by the bruises or wounds he could see on Connor's exposed skin. He walked forward carefully and met Joseph and the kid in the middle of the room.

Murphy noticed a slight smirk on Joseph's face and it was all he could do to keep from socking him. Connor was shoved against Murphy and the kid took a pair of keys out of his pocket and undid the handcuffs on Connor's wrists. "Take him and get out of here," Joseph said, "and tell Mary I said hi."

"Fuck ye," Murphy hissed dangerously. He hoisted Connor up and put his arm over his shoulder keep him up. Everything went smoothly from that point on. Murphy made it out to the car without a hitch and Mary got out to help him.

"Do you want me to drive?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. He could tell she was trying not to look at Connor.

"Nah, just hold him, alright?" Murphy had her sit in the middle seat and pushed Connor in next to her. He was obviously trying to move fast. He shut the door loudly and practically ran to the other side of the car and got in. "We have to go now."

"What's wrong?" Mary kept an arm around Connor to keep him sitting upright. "Are you okay?"

"That wasn't the heroin," he said, trying to start the car. "That was your powdered sugar."

Mary was speechless for a moment until the truck engine finally started.


	15. Intermission 5: Fatherly Love

Nicholas: This is a bit pointless. It was written for sake of cuteness. It's supposed to be the bonding between the father and his sons that he hasn't seen for most of their lives. This snidbit made me really think while I was writing it, despite it's shortness, so I hope you like it.

* * *

Connor woke up on top of something he couldn't identify at first. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted and he noticed a familiar head beneath him. Murphy was sleeping like a baby on the couch they had attempted to share the night before. Holding back a laugh, Connor slid onto the floor and stood unsteadily. He had a bit of a headache from a hangover, but he wasn't complaining.

He looked at Da, sleeping on the motel room bed and smiled ironically. Next time they'd rely on more than a poker game and a coin toss to decide who gets the bed. He heard Murphy stir behind him and sat back down on his brother's back. Murphy made an indignant cry of surprise. "Connor, ever thought ta look before ya sit?"

"I don't know, do ya think yer Superman?" Connor bit back a snicker as Murphy tried to wriggle out from under him.

"What?" Murphy couldn't remember what had happened last night until he really thought about it. Then he recalled a certain situation which involved him on a bar counter claiming to be Superman. "Oh, fuckin' Christ."

"Blasphemous, Murphy," Connor reminded him in a singsong voice.

"I'll give you blasphemous, ya bastard!" Murphy managed to shove Connor off of him and onto the floor. Connor landed awkwardly and yelped in surprise, making Murphy start laughing quietly.

A pillow soared across the room and smacked him in the face. "Boys, go back to sleep until the hang over goes away," Da demanded tiredly from the bed.

"See ya tonight, Da," Connor said happily. He then turned to Murphy. "Serves you right."

Before he even finished talking the pillow met his head sharply. Murphy held back a laugh and got up from the couch before Connor could recover. Once Connor did, though, he jumped up and reached out for Murphy as he ran away. They tumbled down to the floor together and knocked the coffee table up and over to the other side of the room. Da finally just gave up and got out of bed.

"Fuckin' 'ell," he complained, catching their attention enough to make them stop fighting. "Did ya drive yer ma this insane?"

"Aye," Connor said proudly. "Didn't she tell ya that she was the one that kicked us out?"

Murphy nodded and put his hands behind his head as he lay on the floor. "Now she's content with fake suicide phone calls and practical jokes that drive us up the wall."

"That sounds like her," Da commented. "Get yer coats on. We're goin' out."

"Ya mean outside? But there's people out there!" Connor mocked being agoraphobic.

"Yeah, en't ya nervous o' some one stabbin' ya in the back?"

Da stared down at them blankly for a moment. Suddenly he bent down and gave both of them a sharp smack on the side of the head. "I'm en't a recluse. I was in prison fer 25 years, there's a difference. Now, get up an' let's go get some breakfast."

"I'll pass on that," Murphy muttered, rubbing his head. Da gave him a stern look. "I mean—just be a second." He stood quickly and scooped his jacket up from the floor and shrugged it on.

Connor giggled to himself as he searched for his jacket. "Nice havin' a father ta keep ya in line, eh Murph?"

"Fuck off, Conn," Murphy sneered, though he was hiding a smile.


	16. Surgery

Mary's apartment was dull and quiet for the longest time. Nothing moved because no one was there to move it. Everything was quiet because no one was there to make a sound. Every now and then a dripping sound came from the sink in the kitchen, but other than that there was no movement whatsoever. Until the door slammed open and Murphy practically tumbled inside, trying to keep Connor up. Mary held up the other side of the unconscious Irishman.

"Where?"

"The table okay?" Murphy managed to kick the door closed. He dragged Connor over to the dining room table and Mary helped lay him down. "Okay, Mary I need ya to get me a few things. I need a knife, a crockery pot—or something close—some charcoal, lighter fluid and matches. Can ya get that fer me?"

She nodded and went around the house to get these things; even though she really didn't know what they were for. She found her switchblade and the matches under the sink, lighter fluid and charcoal in her closet, but the crockery pot was something she most likely didn't have. She searched her kitchen quickly and found an old Dutch oven her mother had given her for Christmas one year. She laid all this on the table beside Connor.

"Alright," Murphy said, piling the charcoal in the pot, "Mind gettin' me a Tupperware container?" Mary went to the kitchen again.

Connor stirred slightly, but seemed unwilling to wake up. Murphy poured the lighter fluid over the charcoal and went around the table to open the window behind it. He lit a match and tossed in the pot as well and watched as it flared up. He went around the table and inspected Connor's leg. The gunshot wound was clotted, and there was a lot of dried blood around it. Murphy looked up when Mary returned with a plastic bowl.

"What are you going to do?" she asked nervously.

"There's a bullet in his leg," Murphy said, checking the knife in the fire. "If I don' get it out, it'll irritate the wound and he won't heal properly." He saw that she was uncomfortable with the situation. "Ya don' have to watch."

She cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other. "I still want to help, if I'm needed."

"Just hold down his shoulders in case he wakes up," Murphy said, gently. His tone of voice no longer had that angry hint in it. "This'll hurt him, so he probably will wake up—and violently at that."

Mary nodded slowly and went to the other end of the table. She put a hand on each of Connor's shoulders. The unconscious man didn't move at all. If it weren't for his chest moving up and down, she would have thought that he was dead. He was so cold.

It took a while for the knife to heat up, but it did. When it was glowing, Murphy only hesitated a moment before he stuck the hot blade into the wound. Connor did wake up, too. His eyes shot open and he reached up and gripped Mary's wrists. She ignored how tightly he held her and kept holding his shoulders down. He looked like a deer in headlights for a long moment until he saw Mary.

"Who're ye?" he muttered hoarsely. Then he felt another wave of pain coming from the wound in his leg and his hands tightened once more around her wrists.

"It's okay," she told him soothingly. She tried to smile at him, but that was definitely not going to happen. "You're okay. My name is Mary Barrett. What's yours?"

He gave her an odd look that was even more twisted by pain. "Uh…" he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "I'm Connor." He felt the knife Murphy was using twist sharply and an involuntary cry escaped his throat. One of his hands let go of her wrist and locked into his own hair.

Mary stroked the side of his face gently, trying to be comforting. "It's almost done," she cooed.

Finally, Murphy dropped the bloody bullet into the Tupperware bowl and set the knife down. Mary saw relief on both twins' faces. Connor let her wrist go and closed his eyes. He was breathing deeply, but so many things about the situation made him feel a lot better. Murphy went around the table and helped him sit up.

For a little while, the brothers just stared at each other, almost unable to believe that they were together. Mary smiled widely when Connor became practically an appendage of Murphy's neck. Murphy looked like he was about to cry, but he didn't. Mary left the room so they could be together alone for a while.

* * *

Murphy helped Connor take a warm bath and then let him sleep in the guest room. He found Mary in the living room when he was done. "I'm sorry about the mess I left on the table," he told her.

She smiled at him and shook her head. "It's fine, I cleaned it up. Is he okay?"

Murphy nodded and Mary could tell the difference from how he was acting now compared to how he'd been before. He sat down on the couch next to her. "He's sleeping like a baby." That real smile was back on his face; Mary thought it belonged there. "I don't really want to bother ya anymore, but I don' think we're goin' anywhere until his leg gets better."

"No—don't think you're not welcome," she said quietly. "You can stay here as long as you want or need. It's nice having company for a change."

There was a silence between them again. It wasn't awkward anymore. Both of them were content with just sitting next to each other, completely comfortable with not talking. In spite of that, Murphy had something he needed to say. "Yer friend Joseph was with Coccotti."

Mary looked up at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Joseph's one o' the people who had hurt my brother." Murphy rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes in fatigue. "Sorry about that. I just thought ya ought ta know."

Mary nodded absently, even though she knew he wasn't looking at her. She couldn't believe it. No way could Joseph be a bad guy. He was her best friend. Nothing could have hurt her worse than that. "That asshole," she muttered quietly, getting slightly angry with the very idea of Joseph.

"I told ya I didn't like him."

She glanced at him ironically. After a beat they both started laughing, not aware why they were. Murphy felt noticeably more at ease now that he knew that his brother was just down the hall.


	17. Artist's Nightmare?

Nicholas: Okay, thank you Amanda-muffin, for finally reading and reviewing, like you said you would! Aside from that, Connor has nightmares. I have always made the assumption that when Connor was a little kid he had nightmares, so there you go.

* * *

Connor was warm for once, but that wasn't comforting. He was fully dressed, but that wasn't comforting. He was certain that his brother was in the other room…_that_ was comforting. That was what let him sleep well in the strange room of the strange apartment. Oh, and how he slept. It wasn't that dreamless, restless unconsciousness that he'd recently been subjected to. Now he was truly asleep and good with that.

He was sleeping so deeply that he didn't stir at all when Murphy came in, dragging a chair behind him. Murphy sat down next to the bed watching his brother's face. For a long time Connor was completely apathetic. Murphy was about to fall asleep in his chair at one point, but a tiny sound kept him awake. His eyes went straight to the window for some reason. It was dark outside, even though he hadn't thought that much time had passed; it had felt like only a few minutes. He heard the sound again and looked at Connor.

Connor's face was contorted with what looked like pain or fear. He was whining quietly. Murphy recognized this from a long time ago, and seeing it again made him nervous. He stood beside Connor's bed and pondered whether or not waking him was a good idea. Connor clung to his pillow desperately and it occurred to Murphy that Connor doing the exact same thing he used to do back in Ireland when they lived with Ma.

"Connor," Murphy said quietly, shaking his brother gently to ease him awake. As soon as Connor shoved Murphy's hand away, Murphy felt that pain in his gut again. It wasn't as bad, but still that didn't mean it was by any means comfortable. Murphy shook his brother again. "Connor wake up."

Connor scooted awkwardly over on the bed so as to get away from something. Murphy just decided to smack him upside the head, and that got his attention.

In the darkness that had sneaked up on them, Connor was slow in remembering where he was. A staggered breath and a frantic glance around the room later and Connor noticed Murphy standing over him with a concerned expression. He reached up and clung to Murphy's neck with both arms locked firmly there.

"Don' do it, Murph," he muttered desperately. "Don' go away."

Murphy heard his voice crack slightly almost cringed. It appears that some things you just don't out-grow. Murphy rubbed his back comfortingly until Connor's breathing calmed down again. "Connor are ya okay?"

Connor didn't say anything. He was shivering fiercely. Murphy felt him flinch every now and again. "Connor, it's all right. I'm not goin' anywhere." Connor still held him tighter. "Let me go, now, Conn." No response. "Connor?"

"No." His arms stayed firmly where they were, even when Murphy tried to pull them away.

"Connor, yer acting like a child."

"Fuck ya, Murphy."

They sat there like that for about ten minutes, both too stubborn to give up on anything. Finally Murphy sighed and pushed Connor back to the bed one last time, but this time he went with him. He slipped under the blanket and lay next to his brother to let him sleep comfortably. Eventually, he fell asleep too.

* * *

What Mary considered to be morning—meaning it was just past 1:30 AM—came by just when she felt like eating breakfast. She was about to make herself something small when she remembered that she had company. This line of thinking got her wondering if Murphy had really stayed in the guestroom with Connor all the time that she was researching her story. She quietly opened the door to the guestroom, in case Connor was sleeping. 

She could just barely see in the light that came from the alarm clock on the nightstand, but the sight still made her smile. The two brothers were both asleep, Murphy with his arms wrapped around Connor, and Connor clinging to Murphy's AA T-shirt. She felt a strange urge just then. She went silently to the closet in the hallway and retrieved her sketchbook and a pencil, and then she sat down in Murphy's chair and started to draw them.

Usually when she would sit down to draw something, she would take breaks every now and again to spare her hand from cramping. This time, however, she went non-stop to capture the moment. At one point, Murphy twitched in such a way that he ended up with his hand planted on Connor's left eye. She held back a giggle and erased so that she could draw that in because it just looked so cute.

An hour later, she had a quality drawing laying on her lap, but her brain her from the effort this late at night. She stood unsteadily and closed her sketchbook. When she was just about to leave, she noticed out of the corner of her eyes that she'd been discovered. Connor had glanced up at her—moving Murphy's hand out of his eye—and smirked a little. Neither said anything, but the silent exchange was not awkward or shy as it was when she had first met Murphy. She mouthed a quiet "good night" and left the room.


	18. Intermission 6: Abandoned

Connor: All right, Murphy and me are only here because Nick ran out of ideas for intermissions.

Nick: Don't make me hit you, Connor.

Murphy: Getting' a bit touchy, are we?

Connor: Just 'cause ya lost yer comedic inspiration doesn't mean ya can take it out on other people.

Nick: -glaring at both twins- Don't make me bite you.

Murphy: Cheer up, Mate, It'll come back. pats Nick's shoulder

Connor: It's all the drama ya've been writin' lately. You'll come up with somethin' fer next time, don' worry.

Nick: Really think so?

Murphy: Well…no, but we hope.

Nick: -jumps up and grabs for Murphy, only to be stopped by Connor- Let me at him! Don't stop me, Connor!

Connor: Calm down, Nick! Yer just pissed at yer muse leavin' ya.

Murphy: I'm sure she's not far. Check the local pub. She's Irish, right?

Nick: Why else do you think I'm writing about you?

Connor: That hurts, Nick.

Nick: How is it tragedy stays for years while comedy runs around getting drunk most of the time?

Murphy: Comedy's a whore. Tragedy is too depressed ta get any attention from anyone but you.

Nick: -sarcastically- Oh, thanks, Murph.

Connor: Want a beer?

Nick: You know I don't drink.

Murphy: What the hell's wrong with you?

Nick: I'm only part Irish. There is another part of me that is American.

Connor: So? Same point.

-A long silence passes between them-

Nick: Still offering that beer?

Murphy: I knew ya'd see things our way. -hands Nick a bottle of Guinness- Who knows, maybe some one will start giving you ideas for intermissions.


	19. Breakfast Without Sugar

The morning light made everything a nice shade of gold as the apartment windows gave way to the early hours. Mary wandered distractedly into the kitchen, wearing just the long T-shirt and pajama boxers that she'd slept in last night. The tile made her toes curl when she stepped from the warm carpet. She started a pot of coffee in the coffee maker with a yawn and scratched her head absently. There was a lone bird singing somewhere beyond the kitchen window. Mary went to the cupboard and got her favorite mug out.

"Funny, ya didn't seem like a mornin' person." She turned around quickly at the sound of Murphy's voice behind her and almost slipped with her socked feet on the smooth tile. She blushed a deep shade of red at her own clumsiness. "Sorry. Didn't mean ta scare ya."

"You didn't scare me," she said defensively. "I just—I forgot you were here again. I'm having trouble getting used having people around the house." She set the coffee mug down on the counter stiffly. "Is your brother okay?"

"He's fine, still a bit shaky, but fine." He leaned against the counter casually. "His leg won' support him, so I'd rather he didn't get up. I'm just wonderin' if you wouldn't mind make sure he stays put while I go out for a while. I was gonna take Connor for a drink, but seeing as how he's…unable, I guess I'll go by myself."

The coffee maker dinged and she filled her mug. "That's fine," she said, "You don't want any breakfast? Are you sure? Well, okay. I'll make something for Connor then. Is he awake?"

"He was still half asleep when I woke up, so I'd say probably not." They shared a quiet laugh that quickly faded into silence. "I'll see ya later, then?"

"Yeah, just don't come back drunk."

"What do ya take me fer?"

"An Irishman." She waved him goodbye as he walked out the door. How funny it would be to see him go into a bar still wearing his Alcoholics Anonymous shirt. With a quiet laugh to herself, she sipped her coffee.

Her brother had given her that mug for her seventeenth birthday. It said "Coffee Addict" which was probably…mostly…completely true. How else do you think she lives off of so little sleep?

After about half of the mug was gone, she set it down to pursue to challenge of breakfast. She hadn't made a real breakfast in what felt like eons. She opened her fridge and sighed at its emptiness. She had odds and ends that she probably wouldn't use in her normal, everyday life. An idea then struck her. She got milk, three eggs, vanilla and some bread and set that out on the counter. Then she searched the rest of her fridge for butter. Having that in hand, she closed the fridge, retrieved a skillet she hadn't used in forever and set to work making French Toast the way her mother had taught her.

She burnt the first piece beyond salvation and just tossed it in her trashcan and tried again. Success always follows failure, and in this case, the rest turned out well. She made enough to use up the mixture of eggs, milk, and vanilla and let the finished pieces cool on an unoccupied burner on her stove. She was finishing up the fifth and last piece when she heard a sound behind her that made her turn.

Connor immerged slowly and gracelessly from the hallway beyond the kitchen, leaning heavily on the wall. Mary almost dropped her skillet in surprise. She turned off the flame on the stove, scooped the toast out of the pan with a spatula and went to help Connor in one fluid movement.

"What are you doing up?" she demanded as she helped him to a chair at the table.

Connor winced when he put too much weight on his leg, but seemed perfectly fine otherwise, when he sat down. "I smell somethin' good," he said flatly, "and I'm starvin'."

"Good, I made some for you," Mary told him with a smile. "Murphy told me to make sure you didn't get up, though, so I think he might get mad at me."

"Ah, he's makin' too big a deal o' it." Connor looked around suddenly. "Where is he, by the by?"

Mary got two plates out of her cupboard and put three slices of French toast on Connor's and two on hers. "He went out for a bit, but I don't think he'll be gone long. Do you want syrup on your toast?"

"Yes please," he said politely.

"I'd offer you powdered sugar, but Murphy recently used all of it up. For a good cause, don't worry." Connor continued to give her a curious look, but she just smiled and waved it off. "So you're sure that you're feeling better?" After drowning both plates in syrup, she put them on the table. "Sure you want to take on my horrible cooking?"

The second she handed him the fork, he attacked the toast hungrily. He wasn't kidding when he said starving. She held back a laugh as he shoveled food into his mouth, wondering just when the last time he'd eaten was. He didn't fit the pajamas Murphy had put him in—they were big and baggy on him—and that made him quite the comical character at the time.

Mary tried not to stare at him, but it was basically a vain attempt. Every time she took a bite she looked up at him to notice that he'd taken two. He cleaned his plate by the time she was half done.

He seemed to realize that he might have been being a bit rude, but she just laughed it off. "No, I take it as a compliment," she assured him, "I was afraid you wouldn't eat it at all."

"What in God's name would give ya that idea? That's the best damn food I think I've ever tasted."

"Or you haven't eaten in whole day."

He shrugged. "That could be it, sorry ta say."

Mary just smiled and went back to eating her breakfast. Once she had finished, she picked up both plates and rinsed them off in the sink. "How's your chest? You were a bit cut up last I saw."

"It just stings like hell now." He shifted in his seat awkwardly. "Nothin' compared to the pain in my leg."

"Do you want some pain killers?"

"Nah, I'm fine," he stated.

Connor gazed out the window, lost in his thoughts for a moment, while Mary was moving about the kitchen cleaning up and putting stuff away. He didn't even notice her when she came to stand next to him, looking out the window, trying to see what he was seeing. "You and your brother both like to stare into space, don't you?"

He blinked twice and then turned his head to look at her. "What do ya mean?" She didn't answer him. He watched after her as she went to the living room and turned on her small television set. Something about her, he couldn't quite place what it was, but it made him stare. She wasn't exactly a model as far as attractiveness went, but he liked looking at her. "Murphy said ya had a twin as well. Where's he?"

"Dead," she said flatly. She didn't look back at him as she searched for a channel that worked on that damn TV. "He lost his life about a year ago. The room you slept in last night, that was his room."

"Oh, sorry." Connor felt like he'd brought up the wrong subject.

"What for?" Mary looked at him now, still smiling, but looking confused.

"I'm not sure."

She laughed at him. "Then why did you say you were sorry?"

"It just felt like it fit the moment."


	20. Mockery of Making a Mockery of

Nicholas: Warning!: controversial content! (In other words, stuff my grandma would probably slap me for writing.) Yes I'm aware this is shorter than it probably should have been, and yes I'm aware of my reuse of the name Alexandria. I did it on purpose. It'll fit in later on, I promise. If you don't like this chapter for any reason…fuck you, I don't care…(I'm not talking to Sith Happens, BelhavenOnTap, betty-boo, of Bronkamuffin. I care about your guys' oppinion.)

* * *

It had happened quickly enough for Murphy. One moment he was at the bar with a shot of whiskey in front of him, the next he was making out with some girl against a stall door in the men's room. He was still in that drunken stupor, but aware enough to know what was going on. She wrapped a leg around him and slipped a hand under his shirt.

Murphy broke the kiss to breathe and was delayed in realizing he was still holding a cigarette until after he started to take a drag. She started to kiss his neck slowly, dropping her leg so she could stand properly. He put his free hand into her mess of hairspray, barrettes and maybe some red hair in with the mix. She went to kiss his mouth again, but he stopped her. "Wait a minute," he muttered, "Do I know ya?"

"What?" She seemed to be waking up for a moment. The scent of alcohol in the bathroom became more apparent as both their minds cleared.

"What's yer name?"

She smiled oddly and leaned back against the stall door. "Alexandria, what's yours?"

"Murphy."

With that exchange they went back to what they were doing as if nothing had happened at all. They weren't fazed at all when a guy entered, glanced at them, did a double take, and then left looking slightly flushed. Names usually didn't matter in circumstances such as that. Murphy couldn't remember giving his name out that quickly before. That thought passed quickly, though, when she took to licking his ear. The tingle made his head swim a bit.

The cigarette hit the floor and went out in a small puddle of water there. Another kiss on the lips, an exchange of tongue and Alexandria's legs started to cramp from standing. "Murphy," she whispered quietly in his ear as he was busy nipping at her neck. "My room isn't too far from here."

"Can we be there in less than three minutes?" His breath against her throat made her sigh in delight.

"I live above this bar."

"Let's go."

* * *

One minute and twelve seconds later, Alexandria was fumbling with her key in the lock while Murphy kissed her hair absently and held her around the waist—actually hindering her more than helping her. When the door finally opened the two practically fell inside. Two minutes and three seconds. They stumbled, attached to each other, while Alexandria pulled him toward her bedroom. As soon as the door shut and they were safely in the darkness of her room, the entrance hall of her flat was quiet again and the light in the windows faded ever so slowly, waiting for the two to emerge again.

An hour passed before that door opened again. Murphy came out, holding his shirt while tightening his belt properly. Just as he was pulling his shirt back on, Alexandria stood in the bedroom doorway, a robe held loosely around her. She handed him a piece of paper.

"This may be a one night stand," she said, "or day, being what time it is, but fuck, I'd be glad to hear from you again. This my number."

Murphy looked at her for moment deciding whether he should take it. "Look, Alex, I don' usually…this probably shouldn't have happened." He felt he had phrased that wrong, and was about to correct himself when she nodded, smiling lightly.

"Yeah, you're probably right, but it did. Don't get me wrong, I'm not giving you my number so that you can call me every time you wanna get laid. I just don't like making a mockery of sex by fucking some one and then never seeing, talking to, or hearing from them again. As weird as it sounds, that's how I work."

He raised his eyebrows and took the little piece of paper. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't really think of anything to say. He settled with, "Sorry."

"Sorry for what? 'Making a mockery of sex'?"

Murphy chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I…I don' really know."

"Then why apologize?"

"Just couldn't think of anything else to say."

For a long time they just looked at each other, and he got a good look at what she looked like for the first time. They didn't say anything for a while, until Murphy started to feel like he was never going to leave. "Well, I best be on my way."

"What no good bye kiss?"

2


	21. Intermission 7: Mr BunnyKinns

Nicholas: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Last night I was thinking of what I could possibly put as the intermission and I turned to my stuffed animal, Mr. Bun-Buns, who is a bunny, and looking at him, a wonderful idea struck me! Hope you like it. I couldn't help picking on Murphy again.

* * *

Mr. Bunny-kinns hopped blindly along the sidewalk of the streets of New York, ignoring the stares of the random humans he passed. He was looking for some one in particular. A little bit of stuffing leaked out of a rip in his stitching. His little button nose sniffed at the air for a bit and he paused in his hop. Not a sound he recognized with his soft, tall rabbit ears made of felt and cotton fur. He continued his pursuit without a word…not that he could make sound, being that he was a stuffed animal, but that's beside the point.

Two hundred and seventy-two hops later—being made of stuffing, he doesn't tire easily—Mr. Bunny-kinns found himself sitting beside just the man he was looking for. He looked up at the man with marble eyes and waited to be noticed.

Murphy didn't look down for a long time—too preoccupied with his cigarette—but when he did, he fell over onto his butt onto the concrete. Looking at the stuffed bunny before him, he could not believe what he was seeing. "Mr. Bunny-kinns?" he muttered behind his smoke. If you can't hear him saying that, just try really hard and you will laugh your ass off.

No one took any notice of the bunny staring at the Irishman staring at the bunny. Mr. Bunny-kinns twitched to rub him nose and Murphy forced himself to his feet and took off running.

"Don't run!" Mr. Bunny-kinns called, but Murphy ignored him. All of the sudden, Mr. Bunny-kinns marble eyes turned fiery red and his paws grew sharp claws for God knows what purpose. "MURPHY!"

The startled Irishman ran down an ally, all the while wondering where the fuck Connor was. His heartbeat in his ears and he was starting to lose his breath when he noticed something odd about the ground beneath him. He stopped and watched as the pavement twisted and warped and then finally cracked beneath him. He saw a fiery red glow emit the crack as it grew wider and wider. He turned and tried to run the other way but found himself face to face—well, sort of—with a giant, angry, stuffed, were-bunny.

"Don't run, Murphy!" the bunny screamed. Murphy didn't start to yell uncontrollably until he felt himself falling. He was falling into the abyss below, no matter how much he tried to grab something to hold on to. Mr. Bunny-kinns laughed maniacally while Murphy screamed.

* * *

Murphy woke up in a sweat, officially freaked out, scared shitless, and pissed off. He looked to his left and saw Connor sleeping carelessly on the other bed. Murphy rubbed his temples to get rid of a headache. 'That's the last time I drink steak sauce right before bed,' he thought dismally.

He stood shakily, and walked awkwardly to the tiny fridge they kept under the TV that didn't work anymore. He got a beer and before he attempted to do anything else, he took a long drink that cleared half the can. "Now, that's better," he muttered to himself, scratching the spot where the elastic of his boxers had left a mark on his skin.

It was probably about five o' clock in the morning, so Murphy was right in wondering who could possibly think to knock on the door this early. He stared at the door for a few seconds, debating whether or not he should just go back to bed and ignore the knock. 'It's not like it could be anythin' important,' he thought. He waited a few more minutes, distracted slightly by the cold beer in his hand.

The knock came again, so Murphy said "Fuck it" and went to answer the door. At first he thought that no one was there. That was odd, they knocked twice. He looked around, and some odd urge compelled him to look down and there—to his horror—he saw Mr. Bunny-kinns!!! If he had freaked out before, that was nothing compared to this time. He was now running around the apartment, in his boxers, from a little bunny-like thing that was hopping after him.

* * *

The sound of a light flicking on broke Connor's concentration. He had to think to remember what he was concentrating on. He looked to his right and saw Murphy sitting next to him on the couch, with a cigarette in his mouth, playing some made-up version of solitaire with an incomplete deck of cards they'd found when they first moved in. The memory of his daydream came to him rather unexpectedly. He sat in silence for a while, staring at Murphy, wondering just how he should react to his own thoughts. Murphy looked up at him after a while.

"What're ya starin' at me fer?" he asked plainly.

Something in Connor's mind snapped at the moment and he burst out laughing. In his hysterics he actually fell off of the couch and landed, hitting his head on the floor. That didn't stop him. He continued to laugh, and Murphy continued to look at him like he was crazy.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya?" Murphy kicked him lightly, to make sure he was still Connor. Connor kicked him back playfully. Yep, that was Connor.

The twin on the floor tried to catch his breath behind the laughing chaotically. "Mr.—Mr. Bunny-kinns!!!" Connor's fit of laughter seemed to increase impossibly, while Murphy's face change to one of pure dismay.

Murphy stood, set the cards down, and went to bed without another word. With his back towards Connor, he pulled his childhood stuffed animal from under his pillow and hugged it tight.


	22. How to Win a Card Game

Nicholas: I just saw Sweeney Todd. It was pretty cool. I liked the blood and some of the songs, and Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter performed wonderfully, but there isn't much more praise for it other than that. If you're planning on seeing it, it's worth the eight dollars for the ticket. I plan to buy it once it comes out. Now that I've given you my review on this movie that is completely unrelated to my story, knowing that you'll probably just ignore this anyway, enjoy what is truly only the beginning of Chapter 8. If you don't get that, ha ha...

* * *

After breakfast had been squared away and she made the frustrated decision to abandon hope of finding something good to watch on television, Mary helped Connor to the living room to put him on the couch. She put on a James Bond movie, for the sake of not going blind of boredom. A tiny length of time into the movie, they suddenly had a deck of cards between them. Connor was beating her mercilessly at poker. 

"You're supposed to be a gentleman and let me win," she joked, once again folding.

"I'm wounded, I deserve a little fun to raise me spirits," he replied with a smirk. For most of their game they had told their life stories, so the air between them was comfortable. They felt like good friends already. "Ah, don' pout, ya make me feel bad."

She smiled as he dealt yet again and took a long drag from her cigarette. She felt like she hadn't smoked in years—even though the last time she had a cigarette was a week before. "I'll pout all I want," she muttered. "As long as you keep winning, I'll keep pouting."

He laughed and shook his head lightly, setting the remainder of the deck on the coffee table. "So I gotta lose on purpose, just so ya will stop lookin' at me like that?"

Mary nodded with a wide smile, and picked up her hand. "Three," she stated, laying three cards down. "I still don't believe you actually tore your toilet up and threw it off a five story building."

"Well, what would ya expect me ta do?" He switched one card and Mary watched him carefully, making sure he wasn't cheating. "Seriously, say you were in that situation with yer brother—I mean before he…ya know…Anyway, wouldn't ya do whatever it took ta get the fuck out o' there? Ta tell ya the truth, what's worse than knowin' some one ya care about is dead, is knowin' that they're dying and even though there is the slightest chance that ya can help, ya don't."

When he said that, Mary understood exactly what he was talking about, but not from personal experience. She had only heard about her brother's death when she was asked to identify the body. What she realized was that what Connor was talking about was just what Murphy must have been feeling. "You're lucky, you know."

Connor looked up from his hand with a worried look. He didn't like that she'd suddenly got all serious about it. Had he said something he shouldn't have? "What d'ya mean?"

She didn't want to look at him for some reason. "You're lucky," she repeated softly, "to have a sibling like Murphy. When I found him, from the moment his head was clear enough to think straight, he couldn't think of anything except finding you. He couldn't put his mind at rest without knowing where you were and that whether or not you were safe. You guys are so lucky to have had the chance to save each other." Suddenly, Mary put her cards face down on the table and began to stand.

Connor took hold of her arm, a worried expression on his face. "Are ya alright?" When he saw tears in her eyes, he pulled her gently back down and tried to get her to look at him. "Mary, what's wrong? Did I say somethin'?"

"No, I'm fine, really," she said. She sniffled quietly and rubbed her eyes. He didn't look a bit convinced. "Really, Connor, I'm fine." She flipped over her hand to reveal a straight flush. "At least now I am."

There passed a moment when Connor just stared at her cards, unable to believe that he had just lost. He didn't bother showing his hand. "Good thing, we en't playin' fer money." He gave her one last skeptical look, but she pretended that she didn't notice. "Ya sure yer alright?"

She changed the subject. "I never thought it was possible to make a good friend in a little under an hour. It took me at least a day to get Murphy to stop looking at me funny."

"Strange, Murphy's usually the crazy, flirty one o' the two o' us."

"I can see that." Mary collected the cards and straightened them out into a deck again. "Want to play another hand?"

"Nah, I've had enough poker."

"Because I won." She shushed him when he tried to protest that remark. "You know it's true. Don't go denying it now. You're a guy, and as a guy you are naturally a sore loser. And more so, as a guy, you cannot stand being beaten _by a girl_ at poker."

With an eyebrow raised, Connor considered her for a moment. "Aye…is that right?"

"Yes, I grew up with a bunch of men, so I know what's going on with them." Mary stood, stuffing the cards back in their pack. "Want to watch another movie?"

"Sure, but I don' think I can take more James Bond than that." He watched her as she left the room. He was still perturbed by her tears. They had been real, and he knew it, but he also knew it was none of his business. "What about Romeo and Juliet, d'ya have that?"

She poked her head around back into the room from the hall with a incredulous gaze at Connor. "You're serious?" When he nodded, she half-laughed, half-sighed. "What is with people and romance?"

A bit taken aback, Connor mocked being offended. "I happen to like romance movies. They're a lot better than the fuckin' satires Murphy fancies."

"Hey, I like romance, too, but the tragedy kind of…I don't know, irks me." She came back with a DVD and set to work getting her player to work. It had to be the oldest player ever made, but Connor didn't comment. "I mean, if you see a movie with two people in love, you want to see them live happily together, don't you? Or I'm just a helpless idealist."

That made Connor laugh. As he was laughing, though, he sat back against the couch quickly, and felt the scabs on his chest tear a bit. "Ah, fuck!"

"What?" Mary went up to him, suddenly worried. "Are you hurting? What is it?"

Connor laughed again, but it was just a short chuckle. There was a bit of blood seeping through the button-up pajama shirt he was wearing. "Fuckin'…I've been tryin' all mornin' to keep from doing that…Fuck."

"You're bleeding," she commented as though he didn't already know that. "I'll go get something to clean that up, okay? Sit tight." Ignoring some sarcastic remark from him, she went to the bathroom and found an old hand towel under the sink. When she returned, she saw him fumbling with the buttons.

He cursed under his breath when the damn piece of plastic slipped from his fingers. "Christ, I hate buttons," he stated, not actually noticing she had returned. "This is why I wear T-shirts."

Smiling, she went up to him, kneeled before him, and took the tricky button from his incapable fingers. The shirt was practically new, so the buttons were damn near impossible to fit through the holes still. She didn't say word while she tackled the task of opening his shirt. Once she had that out of the way, she put the towel over his chest carefully. "Mind holding that there?"

He held back a hiss at the sting, and instead nodded and held the towel in place. "I don't see how a man could live without a girl like you, Mary."

Mary stared up at him suddenly, almost amazed that he would say that. It was rare for her to get compliments like that, so she usually didn't believe them. This time, however, she couldn't help but take it to heart. "Thank you," she said at length, though she didn't get up.

Connor looked into her eyes and found that he liked doing that. The longer he looked, the more he didn't want to look away, and being that she didn't he didn't have to either. Up close, he noticed how pretty she was, but the red around the eyes from crying was less than attractive. Out of impulse, he reached up and gently stroked her cheek, just below her left eye.

She barely flinched when he touched her, and meant to say something. The quiet moment was interrupted and utterly shattered by the door opening—the sound of which seemed quite a bit louder than it actually was.

Murphy came in, oblivious to them for a while. "Oh," he muttered once he saw them. "Sorry, am I interruptin' somethin'?"

Connor said "yes" the same time that Mary said "no."


	23. Trauma

Nicholas: To clear a few things up. I was reading over this—which I NEVER do with my own stories—and I noticed that I didn't really specify where Connor actually got shot. The gun was aimed weird, so the bullet actually went in the side of his leg, more towards the back of the knee…just thought I tell you all that.

* * *

It took a little while for Murphy to convince Mary that he wasn't drunk—he was just buzzed, he claimed. She wasn't particularly irritated by his intoxication, but she made him think she was. Together, all three sat down and watched Romeo and Juliet—it took a bit to squeeze two grown men and a woman on to her small couch, but it worked out in the end. Connor was squeezed in between Mary and Murphy, and as much as he wanted to, he didn't complain.

Murphy quickly grew bored of the movie. "I thought I told ya ta stay in bed, Conn," he said quietly.

"Aye, well…" Connor glanced at Mary as if to say "help me out here." She just smiled—"you're on your own." "I'm fine, Murphy, really. Yer makin' too big a deal out o' this." That earned a skeptical look. "Oh c'mon. I've been locked in a basement for the last twenty-four hours, the last thing I want to do is lay in bed gettin' bored out o' my mind."

After a short silence from Murphy, Mary piped in. "You know, he's got a point."

Murphy rubbed his nose absently. "Yeah, sure. Tell me, Conn, did ya get to the couch all by yerself, or did Mary help ya?"

Connor carefully crossed his arms in front of his chest in mock annoyance. "That don' matter, Murph." When he saw a triumphant smile on Murphy's face, he elbowed his brother in the side. "Don't even fuckin' start."

They started a little scuffle between them, and Mary had to get off the couch to keep from getting elbowed in the chest. She thought to stop them, but then noticed how careful Murphy was being to avoid hitting Connor in the chest. 'What could it hurt?' she thought. She looked at the clock on her wall that didn't tell the right time because she couldn't figure out how to set it, did a little mathematical equation in her head, and figured out it was well past noon. "Hey, boys," she said, trying to be louder than their little play fight. "You want lunch?"

They both looked up at her simultaneously, Connor with his hand clutching Murphy's hair and Murphy pulling on Connor's ear. She got that urge to draw them again, but decided just to push it away. "What's fer lunch?" they asked in unison.

Lunch was going to have to be sandwiches, being that that was all she had supplies for. "One of these days, I'm just going to have give up and go shopping," she joked. Murphy helped her make sandwiches—he didn't want to feel like a freeloader.

She went to retrieve the chair that Murphy had left in Connor's room, so that three people could sit at the table again. To tell the truth, she had never known why she needed three chairs at her table, being that she lived alone. Guess it worked out nicely.

Murphy helped Connor to the table. He couldn't help thinking that Connor's leg was worse than he thought. As they ate their sandwiches, he was lost in his thoughts. Mary and Connor tried to pretend they didn't notice. "So, where did ya go, Murph?" Connor poked him in the shoulder when he didn't answer.

"Huh?" With a laugh, Connor repeated the question for him. "Oh, I found a bar down the street."

"Was it any fun goin' alone?"

"It must have been, he was gone long enough." Mary enjoyed being able to include herself in the conversation without feeling like an intruder.

"Well, I met this girl there. Said she was a nurse, or something."

Mary noticed a sly look on Connor's face. "This nurse, does she have a name, or did you just leave without finding out?"

Murphy laughed quietly. Connor was poking his head and talking to him in a language Mary didn't understand. He pushed his hand away. "Yeah, her name was Alexandria."

Connor suddenly went serious. "Alexandria?" he repeated, almost to himself. He looked at the wall, thoughtfully. Murphy was saying something else, but neither Mary nor Connor heard him. Mary was busy wondering what was wrong with Connor. Murphy soon followed suit.

"What is it?" Connor didn't seem to hear her, so Mary stood and walked over to him. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. No response. Murphy was up too, poking Connor in the shoulder to try and get a reaction. "Connor!"

Suddenly Connor's hand shot up to cover his face. Mary held his wrist gently, trying to pull them away. "Let me go," he muttered, his voice was afraid. A quick glance to Murphy, and Mary realized that neither of them knew what was going on, but Mary had a good idea it was something that had happened to him yesterday.

When Connor attempted to pull his hands away from her, Mary gently let them go. She decided that the best approach to this was a little different. She reached up and stroked Connor's hair tenderly. "Shh…" she muttered when he had started to whimper quietly. "No one's going to hurt you…" She was no psychiatrist, but something told her Alexandria was some one important to him that he'd lost. Still, Murphy didn't seem to know, and what one twin does, the other is usually included on it.

Connor was still freaking out, but Mary held him patiently. Murphy felt slightly useless at the moment, so he went to the living room and sat down on the couch, a dull pain returning to his stomach. It was his fault again, wasn't it? Of course it was. Everything was always his fault. It was his idea to bring Rocco in, so he practically killed Rocco. It had been his idea to take the hit on Coccotti, and looked what happened with that. Now he said something he probably shouldn't have, even though he didn't know what it was, and consequently, Connor was in the kitchen, having a fit.

Murphy held his head and thought about the days back when they weren't the Saints. Back when they were just Connor and Murphy, Murphy and Connor, and they could do whatever they wanted without the feeling that some one was going to kill them or have them arrested. Why did they do this to themselves? to each other?

The answer was apparent. No one else would. No one else would risk their neck to make sure bad men got what they deserved. No one except Connor and Murphy—and of course, Da. As Murphy thought about it, he knew he had no real regrets for anything he'd done, except for the things that killed Rocco and hurt Connor. 'Is Connor ever this bothered by it?' Murphy wondered. Then he answered himself. 'Nah, Connor never admits that we'd do something without fixin' it.' Murphy suddenly directed his attention to a scraping sound in front of him.

Mary was supporting Connor—though he didn't need too much support—as he walked from the kitchen. "Sorry," he said with a smile, "I got a bit lost in my thoughts." Are ya okay?"

"Aye, I'm good," Murphy lied, smiling back. "I'm not wounded, so I think I'll live. Ye, however, need to stop tryin' to walk around before I tie ya to a fuckin' chair." The comment was met with good humor, which actually did make Murphy feel better. Connor shrugged indifferently.

"Seriously, though, Connor," Mary intervened, "I don't think you should be up so much. It may not seem like you're hurt that bad, but you could be wrong, so be careful, okay?"


	24. Intermission 8: Return of the Bunny

Nicholas: Here you go, Amanda Nutmuffin. You wanted to be in an intermission, so this is what you get. Hope you like it!

* * *

Amanda checked her appointments one last time, dreading what the next psychopath would be like. Sometimes she regretted becoming a psychiatrist, but then she remembered that the only reason she got the job was because she's just as crazy as half of her patients are. Oh, the irony is appalling. Her next nutcase was an Irishman. Well, that's refreshing, she thought sarcastically. She stood, jumped around a bit and banged her head against a book to calm down.

Once in her chair again, she paged her secretary to send in the next patient. A few moments passed and then the door opened. In walked a strikingly handsome young man with holding a little bag over his shoulder. "MacManus, I presume?" Amanda stated, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

"Aye, that's Murphy MacManus," he said, sitting nervously. He looked at the pictures in her office. Funny…he had expected to see pictures that expressed the human psyche, but instead he saw that he walls were covered with what looked like Naruto fanart and bits of comics. Some of it was well drawn and some of it, not so much. As he further scanned her walls he noticed a tiny corner of the room where the anime gave way to live action movie pictures. He recognized the movie with dread.

She followed his eyes and then smiled. "Don't you worry, Murph, the pictures have been here since I came to this office. I believe the person before me put them up." She pushed her glasses farther up onto the bridge of her nose. "So, what seems to be troubling you?"

Murphy shrugged. "I have this…thing. And it's driving me bat fuck nuts. It's not even because the thing bothers me, it's everyone else."

"I've heard this story before." Amanda absent-mindedly swatted at a fly. "This thing, is it a childhood relic?"

"I don' know if relic is the right word fer it, but I s'pose…"

"And everyone else is truly just one or two people, am I right?"

Murphy stared at her for a moment, but in the end he nodded. "Yeah, in truth, it's just me brother who keeps pickin' on me fer it."

"Are you going to tell me what 'it' is, or keep me guessing?" She leaned forward on her desk, head rested on her hands. The way she was looking at him was rather unnerving. "I'll help you, this relic, is it soft?"

"Yes," he muttered. A long pause passed, but then he took his bag from his shoulder and opened it. "This is Mr. Bunny-kinns." He pulled a tattered stuffed animal that looked like it had once been a rabbit. Not looking at her, he waited anxiously for her response.

A beat passed of nothing but the ticking of the clock way up on the wall. Then suddenly, a squeal rose in the air. Amanda ran around her desk and scooped up the bunny. "It's so cute!!!" She hugged it tightly while she laughed, almost maniacally.

"Ya see, that's what I think, but Connor has ta be a jerk about it."

"There's something wrong with Connor, dear, not you." It took a few moments, but she eventually forced herself to release the poor stuffed animal and hand it back to him. "It's fine to have a stuffed animal—and usually it's quite comforting. I, myself, have a lamb. She is cute! Or he? I don't remember…Anyway that's not the point. Point is, you're sane, and that's a first for me. Have a nice day!"


	25. Chocolate Kitty

Nicholas: You haven't seen the last of Alexandria. Don't worry…I'm mean both Alexandrias…

* * *

Alexandria sat on her bed, daydreaming yet again. It was Saturday, so she wouldn't have to go to work. Thank God for that. She put the TV on mute and sat back against the headboard, munching on chocolate as she so often did when she didn't have to do anything. "Here's to the finer things in life," she would joke to herself. Always to herself though, being that she was single—_very_ single. 

_The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ was open on her lap, but she'd stopped reading it a while ago to focus on painting her nails. Multi-tasker, she tended to be. Everything was quiet, just the way she liked it. She put the finishing touch on the final nail and set the bottle of nail polish on her nightstand. Just as she was laying her hands flat to dry, the phone rang beside her. She sighed and glared at the phone. It was very unlike her to leave the phone ringing when she's home, so she decided to risk ruining her nails to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

A very masculine voice replied. "Yo, Alex, what's up?"

Alexandria had to physically take hold of her own wrist so that she wouldn't hang up on him. "Hi, Nick. And here I was thinking it was some one important."

"Oh, that's cold, sweetheart." There was a scuffling on the other line and his voice came back. "Aren't you glad I'm back?"

"You left? You should have sent me a note so I could have celebrated." She examined the nails on her free hand. The thumb was smudged beyond repair. "You better have a good reason for calling me on my day off. I sacrificed my nails for you."

Nick faked a concerned gasp. "Don't make me feel important," he muttered, "it just makes it hurt more when you shoot me down again." She laughed triumphantly. "Anyway, I just saw something that might interest you. It was about cats, and I know how much you_love_ cats." The sarcasm was most apparent. She hated cats. "People are claiming to have seen a really big, black panther in Detroit."

At hearing this, Alexandria almost choked on a piece of chocolate. "You're kidding."

"Got you're attention, didn't I?"

"You're an asshole." Slowly, she recovered the shock and put a bookmark in her book and set it on the nightstand next to the nail polish.

"I'm serious, though. It was all over the news this morning. Some kid was chased all the way through a subway station. Three other people saw it—or so they're saying."

"Well, thank you, Roger. Thank you for making me lose my appetite. Now if you'll excuse me, fuck off." She flipped the phone off before hanging it up. Things like that just pissed her off. Of all the things he could do with his time, why annoy her? Seriously, he needs to—was that Murphy?

Alexandria grabbed the remote and turned the mute off the TV. She was apparently watching something like America's Most Wanted, and sure enough, Murphy's face was up in the corner of the screen next to some other guy about his age and a really old guy. "…wanted for over twenty murders in Boston. All of the victims have been criminals, which earned these men the nickname, The Saints. Authorities have put out a reward of one thousand dollars for anyone willing or able to bring these three men in. They were most recently spotted in the Detroit area and—" She shut off the TV.

Out of all the things Alexandria had been expecting today, she had not expected that. She had expected the cat thing more than that. A murderer? That means that she…with a…oh Christ.

She pulled a pair of jeans over her underwear and then a jacket against the cold and took off out of her apartment in the blink of an eye. Strangely, she had no idea where she was going. She knew only one thing—the TV had not been the second time she'd seen Murphy, but the third.

* * *

"Alfred!" she entered the bar quickly and stole over to the counter, stepping in some one's way just in time to get there before it was too crowded. "Alfred, I have to ask you something."

"Hey, girl, didn't I just see you in here this morning?" Alfred, the bartender, only barely looked up at her, but she forgave him. It was getting to be the busy time of day.

"Yeah, you did, I do live right upstairs. Do you remember that Irish guy?"

"The one you left with?"

She winced inwardly, feeling like a slut for a moment. "Yes the guy I left with. You wouldn't happen to know anything about him, would you?"

Alfred set a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey in front of a customer and then gave her a sly smirk. "I'm assuming you're asking because you don't know anything about him?" He laughed in good humor, while collecting a glass and a tip left on the counter for him. "No, actually I've never seen him before tonight. It really seems to me like you'd have been the first to see him. I thought you guys might have met at the hospital."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't notice the blood on his jeans? Well, I suppose you wouldn't have. You were too busy snogging in the men's room."

Alexandria rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smile at him. "Thanks anyway, Alfred, I'll let you get back to work now." She left without another word, very perturbed at this new information that was still settling in her mind. She didn't even know what she planned to do when she found Murphy, but whatever it was, it wouldn't be pretty.

Women are complicated. As she thought about it, Murphy really had no responsibility to tell her—though it would've been nice. Maybe she was just freaking out. Like that lady in the emergency room the other day. The one who said she was Murphy's girl. She was the stereotypical girlfriend, except she wasn't particularly pretty.

'Well, I'm not gorgeous either,' Alexandria thought, feeling slightly vain. The more she thought about it, the more that girl started to look familiar. That face was definitely some one she had seen before. And then it struck her. "Toni?"


	26. Murder vs Execution

Nicholas: Angst is fun…Tell me if this chapter is awkward at all, I tried to make it flow as best I could. And don't worry, soon everything will make sense with Toni and Alex and such. Enjoy!

* * *

It was probably about three o'clock by the time Murphy managed to drag Connor back to bed and keep him there. Mary couldn't find her matches, so she just settled with lighting a cigarette over the stove. Then she heard a knock at her door and she hoped to God that it wasn't Joseph or some one from the office asking why she didn't come in today. She took a long drag before going to answer the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked. The lady at the door seemed like she was about to walk away.

"Toni?" She sounded almost hopeful.

Mary raised an eyebrow, but shook her head. "No Toni died about a year ago," she reported carefully, "I'm his sister. Who are you?"

"My name's Alexandria."

"Murphy's Alexandria?" Mary quickly invited her in and closed the door behind her.

"So Murphy is here, then?"

"Yeah, I'll go get him, okay? Make yourself at home." Mary took off down the hall to Connor's room. She entered quietly to see Connor sitting up on the bed talking to Murphy in what sounded like French. She wished she had paid attention in high school. "Murphy? Some one here to see you."

Murphy gave her an odd look. "_Nous parlerons plus tard_ (1)," Murphy said to Connor before standing. As he passed Mary he muttered, "Make sure he stays put." Mary smiled and nodded.

"Oh, c'mon," Connor complained just as the door shut behind Murphy. "I've been shot in the leg before. He didn't have a fuckin' hissy fit over it then."

"Could you walk before?"

He went silent and just glared at Mary, though they both knew he wasn't mad at her in the least.

* * *

"Alex." To say Murphy was a bit surprised to see her was quite an understatement. "What're ya doin' here?"

She looked pissed. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. "Earlier today, when I was yapping on about my life and my job and who I am and shit like that, why did you not think to mention who you are?" She didn't leave a pause for him to answer. "I saw you on TV. They said you're a murderer. Are you?" When she gave him the chance to answer, he didn't say a thing. "Speak up, hon, I'm all ears."

Murphy felt like he'd been caught doing something bad at school. Not that he had ever gotten caught at school. He always had a scapegoat at school. Now was quite different. "No I'm not a murderer," he replied at length, "I'm an executioner."

Alexandria's eyes widened slightly. "What gives you the fucking right?"

"Some one's gotta do it!" Murphy kept himself from yelling. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you actually believe criminals like the people we kill deserve to live." It was her turn to be silent. "Who d'ya think will do it? Definitely not the fuckin' people who're s'posed to. Would ya?"

She looked away from him, hearing only a lot of crap she didn't want to hear. He grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him. "Would ya? Or would ya stand and watch as some one is shot to death in front of ya?"

Out of impulse, she slapped him. "Of course I wouldn't!" He had let go of her, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. "But the least you could've done was tell me before you just decide fuck me."

"Fuckin' Christ, I can't believe women sometimes." Murphy rubbed his stinging cheek. "I'm sorry, ya feel better now? I'm fuckin' sorry." He stepped back, trying not to get too pissed off, being that she probably had more right to be pissed off. "Christ on a crutch." He threw himself onto the couch.

Alexandria watched him, slowly getting less and less angry with him. Maybe he was right, but now it was no longer a question of right and wrong. He just made her question her own faith, and no one likes being put into that position. After a second or two of deep breaths, she sat down next to him and held her head in her hands. "You really sorry?"

"No."

"Good, neither am I…Do you have any cigarettes?"

"Yeah, but no matches." He leaned back on the couch and propped an ankle up on one knee. "You'd have to ask Mary anyway, they're hers."

"Who's Mary? Oh, yeah, Toni's sister." She didn't understand the look he gave her. He seemed to be surprised at the very mention of Toni's name. "What? I dated him a while ago. He owed me thirty bucks."

"Well, he's dead now," Murphy stated and she just nodded. "What did he owe ya fer?" She didn't answer him. In fact, she didn't even seem to hear him. She was looking out the window. "What're ya lookin' at?"

Alexandria stood and took the few stumbled steps to the window to get a better look. "I swear I just saw something weird," she stated, all the angst from a few moments ago was forgotten. "It looked like a big animal, down on the street, way out there."

"How would you see that?"

Ignoring him, she opened the balcony window and went out. "I swear, it looked like a big…cat." As soon as she said it, she felt her heart in her throat. "I fucking hate cats."

Murphy followed her slowly, peering over her shoulder. He had a very interesting memory on his mind at the moment. It was enough to make him smile. "Cats aren't that bad," he offered, "until they're a stain on the wall." She looked at him over her shoulder with wide eyes. "Never mind. Why don't ya come back inside? It's fuckin' cold out here."

"Yeah." She was gazing once more at the street below, half-expecting to and half-afraid of seeing the big, black panther that Nick had told her about over the phone. She felt Murphy tug her shoulder and she finally turned away. "You know, it was probably nothing."

"Probably," he agreed with a nod. Then he got an idea. "Yer a nurse, right?"

She blinked a few times before answering. "Yes, why?"

"My brother was shot in the leg, and it's worryin' the fuck out o' me, do ya think ya could take a loot at it?" He looked very hopeful and—she almost laughed—childish in that one moment.

"Sure."

* * *

(1) We'll talk later 


	27. Intermission 9: Pain

Nicholas: This is my first drabble...it is short...I know. Just Connor's thought during the iron scene...you all know what I'm talkin' about.

* * *

Fuck! It hurts! Fuck, it hurts! FUCK it hurts! Jesus Christ is hurts!!!

This hurts worse than gettin' kicked in the nuts by an angry lesbian…a HUGE angry lesbian, at that.

God damn all irons to hell! Fuck!

"Try thinkin' o' somethin' else," Murphy whispers in my ear.

You try thinkin' o' somethin' else when you've got a big fuckin' piece o' hot metal pressed against your leg! I swear Murph, when this is over, I'm gonna do a lot worse than yank yer hair out. Fuck!

Fuck, this stupid towel tastes like blood…Hope it en't mine. I wonder if it hurt Murphy this bad when he had it done.

FUCK!


	28. Like a Horse

Nicholas: Poll: which do you prefer. Rats or Cats?

* * *

Connor didn't really trust this Alexandria lady at first. No nurse he'd ever seen before wore so much hairspray. Adding to that, he really missed his rat friend with the same name. From some reason, thinking about it pissed him off, so he was in a foul mood upon meeting this nurse. Still, she seemed nice enough when she helped him stand and took the bandage off his leg.

"Christ," she muttered, "Why didn't you take him to a hospital?" Murphy shrugged, looking like he felt guilty. "Well, you bound it nicely, at least."

Murphy help Connor to stay on his feet while Alexandria gently examined the wound. "You know, I'm just a nurse," she said at length, "and I haven't actually dealt with many wounds like this, but my honest opinion is that your legs is pretty fucked up."

"Such professional terms," Connor commented with a smile.

She smiled back, but insincerely. She was bothered. "It's hard to walk, right?" Connor nodded. "Well, I'm not surprised. Looks like the bullet went into the side of your leg and actually almost severed your ligament—it's surprising you can even walk at all. That's a one in million shot…" She let his pant leg fall back down and stood with an apologetic face. "I'm sorry…it's pretty permanent damage."

In the silence that followed, Connor considered this slowly. Murphy patted his shoulder comfortingly. "I will be able ta walk though," Connor reiterated.

"Well, you've already been walking, I can tell. You might need a cane or something to walk on your own, but walk you shall. Just not as well." Alexandria hated giving bad news. That's why she hated being a nurse and not a doctor. Doctors hardly ever go up and tell people that their loved one has just passed away or that the patient is now lame. That was the nurse's job. "I'm sorry."

Connor cursed under his breath as he sat back down on the bed. "Look," Alexandria went on, "What you want to do is give it a few more days to heal—three or four at the most—and then you need to start exercising it. Slowly try and build the muscle back up…Slowly, remember, don't go making it worse than it already is."

The twins both looked up at her and she saw the same expression in their eyes. Connor was the one who was hurt, but Murphy had just the same amount of pain in his eyes. "Thanks, Alex," Murphy said.

With a nod, she began to inch towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home, take a hell of a lot of Vicodin and go to sleep."

* * *

Mary was waiting in the living room, not wanting to overcrowd the small room with too many people. She saw Alexandria pass her, looking perturbed, and meant to ask her why, but Murphy came after her first. They went out the door together and Mary was left with a confused look on her face. She went into Connor's room quietly, as had become her habit.

"Everything all right?" she asked, seeing he was up.

In the instant that he looked into her eyes, she saw that he was royally pissed off. "Define 'all right,'" he said, grumpily. "I'm alive, I'm for the most part healthy, so I guess I'm all right."

"No you're not, Connor." She went in and sat next to him on the bed. "What? What's wrong?"

"I'm lame," he stated quietly. "Like a fuckin' horse."

In all truth, and no matter how much she'd deny it later, Mary had expected that. She almost knew, but didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. Shows how brave she is. "Connor…"

"Is it punishment?" He was quiet, and she could tell he was trying to control himself from having an outburst. "Is God tryin' ta say somthin'?"

She put an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. "No, it isn't punishment,' she assured him. "Sometimes God tests you. He wants to know if you have the constitution to go as far a he needs you to, no matter what happens."

Then he was still, almost amazed at her. "That's wise words," he commented, "Where'd ya hear 'em?"

"My father said something along those lines before he died," Mary stated proudly, "so I try to pass it on when it's needed."

"Father's are amazin' things."

Before she could question his meaning, Murphy came back in, a mixture of happiness and annoyance on his face. "What happened to ya?" Connor questioned, his voice no longer angry, but amused. It made Mary smile to hear it.

"Never ya mind," Murphy stated defiantly. There was something in his eye that Connor recognized from along time ago, but he didn't comment. "Yer bedridden for the next four days, and I en't kiddin'. Don' ya even think o' gettin' up, or I'll call Ma." Mary held back a laugh at the look of pure disdain on Connor's face.

"Ya wouldn't!"

"Try me."

There passed an unofficial battle between them of who would falter first. Mary looked from one to the other and then back again, intrigued at the silent exchange. As it tore on with the brothers simply glaring at each other, Mary actually grew frustrated. "All right, that's enough," she said at length. " Connor, lay down, and Murphy you're going to help me go grocery shopping. Got it?"

They both stared at her in surprise for a moment. It seemed like there was some invisible switch that some one had flicked on in which they both started to move at the same time. Connor lay down and Murphy went out of the room, both still a bit stunned at Mary's sudden sternness.

The four days of Connor's being stuck in bed passed very similar to this. Both Murphy and Connor consented to doing what Mary told them to—both out of respect for it being her home and the fact that she could be intimidating when she really tried.


	29. Flirtatious

Nicholas has been playing solitaire all day because Nicholas is very bored. But Nick will still write chapters for those who love Nicholas and review them!!! By the by, the cane is straight, not bent at the top.

* * *

On the fifth day, Connor was just about fed up with Murphy constantly being there whenever he made the slightest noise in discomfort. "Murphy, go," he said, "Go outside, and have some fun. Jesus Christ, yer turnin' into a mourner and I en't dead!" Murphy gave him a wry look. "I'm serious, leave me alone! Go take Alexandria on a date. Ya have enough money ta take her out ta lunch, don' ya?" 

"I don' want ta!"

"Murphy, I'm not kiddin'. I keep feelin' like the only reason yer stayin' here is because o' me. Stop makin' me feel guilty and get out!" Murphy held back a snicker. "'Sides, me an' Mary have plans fer today."

The other raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "Really? And what might these plans be, hmm?"

"She's gonna help me ta start walkin' right again." Connor smiled widely at his brother's skeptical look. "Now go on, and stop botherin' me."

"Alright, ya win," Murphy stated with a smile.

He left the room and Connor sat up in bed. He hadn't tried to walk since Alexandria had been over, and to tell the truth he was nervous at trying again. He put his feet on the floor and pondered for a moment. He stood awkwardly with the majority of his weight on his good leg.

When he looked up he saw the door open and Mary peek her head in shyly. He wondered why she always did that. "Yo," he said flatly.

"You look like you're ready, then," she said. "Your brother left."

"I know, I told him ta."

"Oh…well, I got a present for you."

"Why?"

Mary disappeared from the door for a second, and then came into the room holding a long piece of wood. "Murphy said you were appalled at the thought of having to be helped everywhere you go, so I had this made…It's a cane." Connor made a face, but she just smiled and held it out to him. "Look at the top."

He took it and examined the handle of the cane. There were letters around it spelling "VERITAS," just like his tattoo. He smiled, but still didn't like the idea of the cane. Looking closer he saw a spiral of words down the entire thing. It was his family prayer. "How did ya…?"

"That was Murphy's idea."

"It's…why a cane though? Yer makin' me feel like an old man."

"Oh, you will not look old, stop it. I think it would make you look more mysterious…maybe even sexy."

"Yer lyin'."

"Only a little."

He had to sit down because his leg was getting tired, but he continued to examine the cane. "How much did this cost?" She didn't answer. "I s'pose I should pay ya back."

"No, I just want you to use it." Mary walked up to him and took his hand. "Now come on, let's go for a walk. You've got to get used to using it."

* * *

Murphy found Alexandria's apartment easily enough. He hadn't talked to her since she'd examined Connor's leg, but he really felt like he wanted to talk to her again. He just really hopped she didn't get made at him. He knocked on the door. 

After about five minutes some one finally answered. He didn't recognize Alexandria without her hair up and hair sprayed. It looked better down. "What's up, Murph?" she asked with a surprised smile.

"Ya doin' anythin' today?"

"Not really," she said with a shrug. "I don't have to go to work until four. What did you have in mind?"

"Want ta go ta lunch with me? I'll pay."

It was that simple really. What wasn't simple was convincing her that she shouldn't do her hair without sounding pushy. "Ya look fine, really," he said. She looked like she didn't believe him for a moment. "Really, besides, yer hair's softer now." He reached out and stroked it slightly.

Alexandria smiled and agreed quietly. "Okay, you win." She went inside to get her house key and then locked the door behind her on her way out. "So where are we going?"

Murphy shrugged. "I didn't plan it this far. I thought ya'd still be mad at me er somethin'."

"Oh, I couldn't stay mad at you, Murphy MacManus," she said, locking arms with his once they had gotten down the stairs. "I know a good burger place. How does that sound?"

"Lady's choice is good fer me."

* * *

"You cauterized your wounds with an iron?" 

"Well, we couldn't think of anythin' else, and we couldn't go to the hospital, so that seemed to work at the time." Murphy drowned his french-fries in ketchup. "See gunshot wounds're a lot more serious than little scratches, so doctors ask more questions when you stumble into the emergency room with a bullet in yer arm rather than just ta get handcuffs off."

"I think your making a comparison from personal experience," she commented. She took a large bite of her hamburger—in truth, she'd missed breakfast.

Murphy shrugged and chewed thoughtfully on a fry. Once he swallowed he went on. "Probably, I've done some crazy shit. Half o' which I don' even remember."

"The story of my life," Alexandria commented. "So how's Connor?"

"He's fine. I was worried until this mornin' when he told me ta get lost. He wanted some privacy so he could flirt with Mary."

Laughing almost made Alexandria choke on her Coke. "What was that?"

It was Murphy's turn to laugh. "Never mind," He said poking at his food with a distracted look on his face. "It en't my business anymore than it is yers."

Then Alexandria noticed something that made her smile. "So he needs privacy to flirt with her, which makes you go off on your own to flirt with me?" He looked like he was thinking about it. "Come on, admit it."

"Yeah, it's true," he muttered with a smiled. "Ya don't mind, do ya?"

"Not at all."


	30. Intermission 10: Once Upon a Dream

Nicholas: This story is actually almost over, so you won't see any more intermissions, sorry. I have two chapters to go…maybe an epilogue, but you know…I'm kind of sad…Here's the last intermission. This is a dream that I actually had when I started school this year. I wrote it out as an assignment for English class, so here you go. The hits on this story are currently at 666...

* * *

I walked through the door and the room beyond was a pale gray color with no obvious source of light except for a jack-o-lantern on the table. I sat down at the table in the only available seat of the four and poured myself a cup of peppermint tea. Also at the table, sat—naming from my left—James Bond and Murphy and Connor MacManus. 

"So," the double 'o' said, "you brought the necessary?" His crisp British accent seemed to reverberate through the vast, gray room.

I nodded with a smile and patted my coat pocket. I looked to Connor and then Murphy. Connor looked slightly nervous. He had a right to be. Murphy, however, was just sipping his tea coolly. I raised an eyebrow.

"Ya guys are really crazy, ya know that," Connor said stiffly.

"Then why are you here?" I picked up a cookie casually and munched on it. "James, I won't run any more errand for you if you don't provide proper compensation."

"Errands for me?" He looked a bit like he was prepared to pull a gun out on me and point it at my head. "This was your idea."

"Well? Are we all ready?" Murphy nodded, setting his teacup down with a smirk. Connor just made an indifferent grunt that I translated as yes. I took out the deck of cards and laid it on the table. "Hush," I told him, holding back a laugh. "You just don't like it because you always lose."

"I wouldn't always lose, if those two didn't cheat so much," Connor returned, pointing at both Bond and Murphy. Murphy just shrugged and nodded as if to say, "he's right."

James pretended to be innocent. "Cheat? I would never!"

Murphy laughed quietly. "Really? Then how'd ya get that watch..." He strained to look at it over the table. "Rolex?" I smirked at his silence, which lasted for a good many moments.

"Omega," he said at length.


	31. Mothers and Panthers

Nicholas: Well, yes, the other Alexandria comes back, but I never said the rat was coming back. Read on, and enjoy my funness!

* * *

Mary very much considered Connor her boyfriend, whether he liked it or not—but she had no reason to believe he'd have anything against it. The four days that he'd been stuck in bed had been four long days of constant flirting from Connor and many smiles from Mary. She never really told Murphy about it at all, but something told her he'd already noticed. And why wouldn't he have? He is Connor's twin. There it is then, that Mary was excited to actually go _outside_ with Connor. Got to see him in the real world now—and out of those pajamas that he hadn't changed out of until that day.

Before they left, Connor changed into a pair of jeans—which he had a hell of a time getting on—and a blank white T-shirt that Mary supplied him and the jacket that Joseph had given her and she'd neglected to return. They were much more comfortable than the PJ's that were way too big for him. "I'm going to have to buy you some new clothes," she had commented while she helped him down the stairs.

The day was rather nice, for being a bit late in the year. The sun was out, but the air was very cool. Connor didn't seem to mind it, but Mary hated the cold. She was warm in her jacket, but knowing that it was cold just seemed to piss her off. It's a good thing she had Connor to distract her. She stood on his right so that she could hold his hand that wasn't occupied with the cane.

"Where d'ya want to go?" Connor asked. He was trying to pretend he wasn't annoyed by the fact that he was walking with a cane, but Mary could tell. He'd get over it; there weren't very many people out that day.

Mary shrugged indifferently. "I don't know," she said, "Let's just wander. I'll show you the streets of my youth…as much as it probably wouldn't interest you."

"Now don' start that." Connor shook his head with a short laugh. "The only reason ya say that is so that I will be interested. I'm a twin. I know how things like that work…So what're yer parents like?"

A victorious smile covered Mary's face. "I used to live with my mom and dad and brother about a mile away from here. My dad was drunk a lot, so he usually ignored us. When he was sober, though, he was the greatest guy. He would slip me chocolate candies whenever we went to the doctor for check-ups and stuff. My mom never liked that. She still lives in our old apartment, but I don't visit as often as I'd like. I was usually busy with my job. Now I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Why don't we visit her now?" Connor had a smile.

"What, my mother?"

"No, that little monkey that just ran past us." She smacked his arm lightly, trying not to laugh. "Yes, yer mother. I'm sure she'd like ta see ya."

"I don't think that's a good idea…My mom is…well, she's a bit crazy lately. Ever since my dad died, she went a bit downhill." Mary didn't seem a bit deterred when talking about her late father. Connor noticed the difference from when she spoke about her brother.

"I'll promise ya right now, she en't as crazy as me Ma," he challenged.

Mary gave him a critical look, with one eyebrow raised—something she'd taught herself to do when she was bored one day. "I doubt that," she stated gravely, "but if you insist…To mother's house we go."

As they began to approach Mary's old neighborhood, she told stories of childhood events that had happened. The story of how she used to run from the bigger kids when she threw rocks at them—one never runs out of hiding places in the city. Then there was the story of the first time she'd punched some one in the face—apparently the kid received quite a thrashing from her brother as well. She had had a relatively adventurous young life, and Connor told her so.

"Yeah, well, I was a pretty rambunctious kid, believe it or not," she stated. He looked at her like he didn't believe her and she just laughed. They came up to her mom's building and she once again helped Connor up the stairs—though they had two flights to go this time (fun, fun, fun). "Now you get to meet mommy-dearest," she muttered quietly.

"And I've only known ya fer four days," Connor teased while she knocked on the door. He was leaning on his cane, and Mary could tell that he was tired of walking. Maybe this trip to Mom's place wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The door opened almost immediately. Mary's mother, Alicia Barrette, stood in the doorway with a cigarette hanging limply from the corner of her slightly wrinkled mouth. She reminded Connor of one of those movies with the old blond lady that always seems to have it bad since her husband died. He almost expected her to have a low scratchy voice, but when she spoke she sounded like a young girl. "Mary, lord on earth, if you didn't pop up out of nowhere!"

"Hi, Mom," Mary said, letting her mother kiss her on the cheek.

"I was just thinking about you. It's really wonderful to see you out of the blue like this. Please come in! And who's your friend?" She looked Connor up and down critically.

"This is Connor," Mary introduced him. "Truthfully, it was his idea to come and visit you today." Mary's mother just shrugged and pulled them both inside and closed the door behind them.

Connor noticed that she was wearing high stilettos that seemed impossible to walk in—especially on the lady's aging feet. Mary noticed that he was staring while Mom left the room to "tidy herself up." Mary led him to the couch and sat him down. "I told you she's crazy, no woman in her right mind would walk around in those shoes in her own home."

"I'm beginning to see what ya mean," he said. Mary noticed that he didn't let go of his cane. Maybe he did like it after all.

"Okay, one thing you need to make sure of, don't tell her anything about where you come from or what you do. If she asks, don't say you got shot in the leg, make up a story. Try not to let her see your tattoo, and please, whatever you do, don't under any circumstances—"

"Mary can I talk to you for a moment?" Her mother called her from the bathroom.

"Sure." Mary completely forgot to tell Connor what not to do and took off for the bathroom. Connor just stared after her, kind of apprehensive with all the stuff she'd just warned him against—and what she hadn't. This was going to be fun—and please enjoy the sarcasm.

۩

To say that the day went by uneventful would be a lie of cosmic proportions. Some of the stuff that Mary's mother insisted they discuss is not really appropriate for audiences of any age. Most of it made Mary blush and cry "Mother!" indignantly. A lot of it made Connor blush, as hard as that may be to believe. When they finally managed to leave, Connor actually had a faint urge to buy a plane ticket and go see his own mother and tell him how much he loved her just the way she was.

The walk home began quietly, Connor not wanting to admit that Mary's ma was really nuts, and Mary just feeling embarrassed to no extreme. They must have been there for more than two hours, which Mary had definitely not wanted to do. "So what do you think of Mother?" she asked quietly at length.

Connor stopped walking suddenly and kind of stared at her with an unidentifiable emotion on his face. "What?" she asked stopping and turning to look at him. "Are you all right, Conn?"

He suddenly smiled at her. "I'm fine," he said, "just a thought." He continued walking a few more steps before he stopped again. He listened for a moment and then turned around and walked back until he came to the alley they had just passed.

"Okay, you're worrying me, Connor." Mary followed he, but stayed behind him in case there was something wrong with him.

"No, it's nothin', I just thought I saw somethin' odd." After a half of a minute of looking, he felt Mary's arms wrap around his waist. He couldn't help but smile.

"Come on, let's go home."

"Aye."

It didn't take more than the second he used to turn around before he felt his cane knocked out from under him. He fell to one knee and felt Mary being pushed pulled back. She cried out, but it was cut off when some one put a hand over her mouth and a knife against her throat. Connor heard a click and looked just in time to see a gun pointed at point blank against his forehead.

"Got a wallet?" Connor looked up at the tall man before him, and then glanced over at Mary, who looked scared out of her mind. The second man, with his hand over Mary's mouth, looked like the stereotypical asshole.

"No, I don' 'got a wallet,' but I'd appreciate it if ya let my lady friend there go."

"Very intimidating, Irish," the one with the gun said. He carefully took a step back. "Now give me any cash you have on hand, or your 'lady friend' might get hurt."

Connor forced himself to stand awkwardly, grabbing his little cane feebly. "Ya asshole," he muttered. He reached into his pocket slowly as if for the money that he knew he didn't have with him. Murphy had all of his cash. Suddenly the cane shot out and struck the gunman in the gut. As he stumbled off balance, he managed to grab the guy with the knife. He wrenched the knife away and stabbed it swiftly into the man's back.

All of this happened in a moment and Mary hardly caught all of it. She was suddenly aware that the man behind her was falling and that Connor was keeping himself standing against the wall. The blood puddle that was slowly forming on the ground caught her eye. She gagged slightly, but tried to ignore it. With a burst of energy, she kicked the gunman as he began to recover from the blow of the cane. He grabbed her leg and she just turned on her heel and nipped him on the chin with her heel.

From farther down the alley, a loud roar sounded. Mary turned just in time to see a big black cat charging toward her. As any normal person would, she freaked out and tripped herself when she tried to get away from it. She wasn't its target though. It pounced on the man with the gun and bit down, hard into his neck.

A long moment passed where neither man nor beast moved. At the same time Connor was going to try and stand again, the cat turned on him and tackled him to the ground. Mary let out a frightened squawk, but the panther-thing didn't hurt him. Instead, she licked his face playfully, consequently getting a mixture of blood and saliva on his cheeks. Mary stared in wonder for a while before she slowly got up and inched towards them.

Connor, who had been scared shitless a few seconds earlier, was now laughing softly at the cat. He pushed himself out from under her and propped himself up against the wall behind him. His eyes held utter disbelief. "Fuck me sideways," he muttered, staring at the she-cat with wonder and glee. "Mary, meet Alexandria."


	32. The Secret

Nicholas: Did I say two more chapters? I think I might have underestimated my ability to make something short actually quite lengthy. Oh well…You don't domesticate animals, you just put them in a different situation of living.

* * *

"Mary, meet Alexandria."

At this, she was dumbfounded. She looked at the big cat thing and then Connor and then back to the big cat thing. "Yep, you're nuts, I was right," was all she said at first. When Connor laughed at her, she began to notice that the panther wasn't actually as big as she had thought. Alexandria was quite a bit bigger than a house cat, but did not look like a fully-grown cougar.

Connor petted the animal's head lovingly and a thought came to mind. "Can we keep'er?"

"What? No," Mary said, "At least, not at my apartment, where else do you think she'll fit? Why is she a panther? A black one at that."

Connor shrugged as he avoided getting licked in the face again. "She was a rat last time we met," he stated, sounding very much like a child that has recovered a toy after losing it for months on end. "She's not that big yet, we could keep her in the closed down shop next door to where you live."

"Yeah and we're supposed to just walk there, through the streets of Detroit with a big cat-thing following us. That's really inconspicuous." She couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. There were two dead bodies right in front of her, and she was still recovering from the terrifying idea of watching Connor die in front of her as well. No way in hell was she about to let that happen.

"She's wandered the streets relatively unnoticed so far, right?" Connor was quite serious about his new house pet.

"Yeah, but what about food? For some reason I doubt the panther would like my French toast as much as you do."

Connor was at a loss for a moment, but only a moment. She could see the idea in his eyes before he had to say anything. "Well, in our normal occupation, Murphy and I tend to create a build-up of wasted meat."

Mary shook her head hopelessly. "That is really quite disgusting to think about," she commented.

"Yeah, but I don' think she'll think so."

So it was decided that Connor could keep his oversized pet. Mary was amazed when she saw Alexandria actually listen when Connor spoke to her. They let her follow on a different route, but she kept close enough to know she was going the right way. As the concept sunk in, Mary had room in her head for other things as well. She had watched Connor kill some one. Even though that some one would have killed her, he was still _some one_.

"Connor," she muttered quietly, once they were on their way again. "Are you alright?"

He looked sideways at her, with a half-smile, half-confused look. "Aye, I'm okay," he reported, "And ye, yer not hurt at all, are ya?"

"No." She felt better now. It was still the same old Connor she knew. "I'm just a little bit…I've never seen anyone killed like that. It's strange, you don't think about how it happens when you watch the reports on the news and stuff, but when it happens right in front of you…"

"Aye…Sorry ya had ta see that."

"No, it's not so much that, I just can't help thinking that there was a big chance that you could have had a bullet in your head, and even a moment when I thought you really were going to be mauled by a big cat…I don't know, feelings like that don't just go away, I guess…I can't seem to shake it."

Connor laughed softly, but not because she'd said something funny. He laughed because he was starting to realize just how she worked. She wasn't so naïve as she made herself out to be. "It's all right," he assured her, "I'm still alive, and so are ya. Even if I had died back there, it's not like ya'd ever forget me, so I'll still be with ya. Don't laugh, it's true, no matter how corny it sounds." He thumped her on the shoulder playfully when she started to giggle.

Mary had no immediate response, but when the silence fell again, she got to thinking. Thinking never really got her in any good predicaments. "Do you like me, Connor?" Her voice was quiet again.

"O'course, I like ya, girl, what's on yer mind?"

"I mean, do you really like me, or are you just my friend?" He raised an eyebrow. "Friends don't really last forever, I've noticed."

At this, Connor saw something interesting in her face. She was getting very serious over something he didn't know about. "At the risk o' soundin' _corny_," he began, "I don' like ya, I love ya."

"Good, because I want to tell you something, and I have no idea how you'll react."

"Go on," he said.

She saw the same earnest curiosity on his face that she had seen on Murphy's back in Joseph's flat. "Me and Toni were identical twins." She held his arm as though she feared he'd disappear at any moment. "When we were born, I was very much…a guy." He said nothing, just seem to digest this knowledge. "See, my birth was normal, but the fuck heads at the hospital screwed up my circumcision." A small sound of understanding from Connor. "My parents were afraid that I'd grow up a freak, and even if I didn't, I'd be sterile."

"Sterile? Jesus, how much did they cut off?"

"I don't know, I was a newborn baby. Anyway, my parents both agreed that the best way for me to grow up normal was for me to be a girl. It's a lot easier to just do a sex-change operation than to try and fix it. So here I am. Mary and not Michael." An anxious feeling filled her stomach when Connor hesitated to reply.

Connor cocked his head to one side and stopped walking. He looked at her face for a few long, critical moments. Then he kissed her, and brother, was that just the sweetest thing she'd tasted. It was short, sadly, but when he pulled away he was smiling. "I don' care what ya are genetically. Yer a female right now because no way in hell would I kiss a guy."

When they got to her building, they found Alexandria already where she was supposed to be. Connor spent a good few minutes just petting her gently. Mary smiled to see it—and if she could justify being jealous of a cat, she probably was. Alexandria looked right at home in the abandoned building. There were lots of hiding places for her, in case some one did stumble in, and she would probably like roaming around. "All right, Ally," Connor said, stroking the fur on her back, "Ya comfy?"

She actually made some reply in the form of a growl. Not a threatening growl, but Mary still took a step back, just to be safe. She wasn't much of an animal person, and even though that could change in the future, at the moment, she liked the safe distance.

Before leaving, Connor kissed his cat-friend on the head and watched her run off under fallen tables in the vast, cluttered room. "You are nuts," Mary said, mostly to herself.

"Aye, well," he didn't seem to want to deny it. They crossed the street and halfway up the stairs to her apartment, Connor grunted disdainfully. "Why is it that no one in the city can possibly live on the first floor?…or at least in a place with an elevator."

Mary just smiled and helped him along. "Just think, once you can get up the stairs by yourself, you'll know that you're recovering nicely."


	33. Poking Fun

Nicholas: Here's the next chapter…I know exactly how this will end, but you don't until I put up the next chapter. That might be tonight and that might be tomorrow, I get to decide…Mwahahahahaha! ahem I hope Mr. McFarland isn't reading about how stupid I act on the internet….

* * *

Mary couldn't remember the last time that she had been able to take a relaxing shower with not worries of where she needed to go and what she needed to do. Having not had the opportunity to actually think in her shower before, she didn't know what to think of now. She found herself pondering the subject of the MacManus twins. Connor would have been asleep by then, but she didn't know when Murphy would be back. She got her answer while she was rubbing shampoo in her hair.

There was a hesitant knock on the bathroom door. "Mary?" a voice called.

"Murphy? Is that you?"

"Sorry, just checkin'."

She smiled to herself while she rinsed her hair. He'd always been doing that, ever since she met him. He'd make sure she was okay almost every time they had a conversation. 'Maybe he's still mad at himself for scaring me with the gun,' she wondered. Just as the water started to run cold, she turned the faucet off and got out, wrapping a towel around herself. Normally she wouldn't have bothered, but she had to keep reminding herself that she had company still.

Before she went to her room to put her clothes on, she peeked into the living room to see Murphy sitting on the couch, opening a new pack of cigarettes. She put on some PJs that didn't smell like they hadn't been washed in ten years and went out to join him on the couch. Of course, she looked in on Connor very quickly to see if he was awake before going anywhere near Murphy. He wasn't, so she went.

"What's up?"

He was smiling at her awkwardly, while lighting a cig with a new lighter. "Alex had ta go ta work," he said, "so I stopped off at some places before I came back. Is Connor in?"

"Yeah." She crossed her legs when she sat down and combed her fingers through her slightly tangled, damp hair. "He's asleep, though. Seems like we walked all over Detroit. Even I'm pretty tired." She knew Connor would probably appreciate it if she left out the little bit about almost getting mugged and stuff like that. She decided to change the subject. "You look like you're thinking too hard about something," she commented, "What's on your mind?"

"Nothin'."

Mary made a face, knowing when he was lying. "Now come on, I'm not stupid."

"Just miss Connor, that's all." He laughed at himself for a bit. "I know, it's silly, but I still en't used to goin' places by myself." When she didn't say anything he went on, needing to say it before he went nuts just thinking about it. "I'm constantly havin' this bad feelin' in my gut. An' it's because I feel like me an' Connor are…I don' know…"

As she listened, Mary found that she understood exactly what he meant. "You feel isolated, don't you?" Murphy shrugged and nodded absently. "Well, how long were you really expecting to live with your brother? You may be twins, but you're not the same person. You can't go everywhere together." A sigh and a distant look at the ceiling were all she got in reply. "Oh, lighten up, before I punch you."

She had succeeded in making him laugh. "Yer somethin' else, Mary," He said quietly. "Somethin' else entirely."

"So…how was Alexandria?"

"Lovely." Quickly, he tried to correct himself, much to Mary's amusement. "I mean…she's…fuck."

Mary sighed to hide how funny she found him at the moment. "Will you never learn?" she commented, "It think you realize how bad that sounded." He was about to say something else, starting t get frustrated with himself. "I understand, Murphy. Calm down."

It took a few beats for Murphy to regain his composure enough to just smile and laugh it off. "I s'pose I'll have ta treat ya all sisterly now," he stated to change the subject.

"What do you—?"

"You and my brother," he said, then took a long drag from his cigarette. "With the way yer face lights up every time ya hear his name. Might be hearin' weddin' bells." Mary blushed fiercely and meant to say something, but Murphy interrupted her. "And I'll tell ya right now, he's head over heels fer ya. Might've started with that this mornin'."

Mary sat back against the couch, feeling that the tables had now turned just the way Murphy wanted them to. She didn't dignify him with a response just yet. "I'll know fer certain if he used that cane o' yers."

"What are you talking about Murphy?"

Murphy just smiled contently, not even looking at her. "I guarantee ya that if it'd been me tryin' to get him to walk with a fuckin' cane, he'd've flipped me off and ignored me. I wager he'd be willin' ta do just about anythin' fer ye, though." He noticed he smile out of the corner of his eye and knew he was now safe in the conversation. "Did ya tell him?"

"Yeah…" Her smile didn't falter. Always a good sign. "He took it relatively well."

"Yer not tellin' the whole truth," Murphy stated, leaning over to her and looking her straight in the eye. At length, he settled back with a triumphant look set smugly on his face. "Ya been kissed."

She crossed her arms and looked away from him stubbornly. "That's not your business." All the while, she was smiling, though.

"I knew he wouldn't care that ya told him," Murphy stated, "Connor's not like that."

As if on cue, Connor came from the hall, limping awkwardly on his cane. He looked like a deer in headlights. Both Mary and Murphy were up in seconds, asking him what was wrong. He gave an indignant grunt. "Stop babyin' me," he demanded. "I just looked out my window, and ya won't be able ta guess who I saw.


	34. Da, meet Coccotti

Nicholas: Sorry, guys. I neglected to post this last night. Anyway, there is one more chapter after this and then the epilogue and it's over...sniff

* * *

"Ya won't be able ta guess who I saw."

"Well, we're all ears, Conn," Murphy said impatiently.

"No, c'mon, guess, don' ruin me fun." Murphy gave him a deadly look. "Okay, don' get yer knickers in a twist. I was lookin' out the window for maybe five minutes and it took me that long ta notice that the man I was starin' at was Da."

Murphy's eyes lit up a bit. No more glares at his brother. "Yer serious?"

"Aye. Now I think we should go down and say hello, being that he's probably been out there a while, being creepy like he tends to do."

Mary looked very confused, but Connor explained as she helped him down the stairs after Murphy had already ran outside, as giddy as a schoolboy. "Da's one of the 'Saints' as we've been called," Connor said, "but recently he took off an' didn't tell us where he went. He does that as well…quite often."

Once they were on the ground floor, Murphy was already hugging his father tightly. "We missed ya, Da," he said. The moment they parted and he saw Connor, the old Irishman's face fell.

"What happened to ya, Connor?" he asked with a thicker accent than both the twins' combined. Mary thought he looked very intimidating wearing a black trench coat and dark sunglasses. She clung to Connor's arm a bit. "An' who's the lass at yer side?"

Connor smiled made Mary stop hiding behind him. "This is Mary, Da," he said almost proudly. "She's been kind enough to shelter a couple o' beat up guys like Murph an' me." He nudged her gently to get her to recover her senses. "Go on," he whispered to her.

Mary cleared her throat and straightened up, unaware until then that she had been acting silly. "Hi," she said extending a hand towards Da. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Now, don' go callin' me sir," he said, taking her hand to shake. "Me name's Frankie, but ya might as well call me Da, like everyone else does…by everyone, I mean them." He motioned to his sons who were conversing between themselves in French.

"_Sais-tu que son nom est Frankie__1_" Murphy asked Connor quietly.

"_Je n'ai eu aucune idée__2_," Connor replied with a laugh. "_Je me demande si la mère sait__3_"

"None o' that, boys. I don' want ya plotting against me in yer different languages," Da said strictly. The brothers laughed quietly. "Oh, by the way, I saw a girl and some men that I thought looked a bit strange go into that old buildin' across the way."

"A girl? How many men?"

"Five," Da reported.

Mary was a bit confused. "Why would they go in there? There's nothing there but Alexandria."

Murphy made a face. "I beg yer pardon?"

"Not your Alexandria, Connor's Alexandria."

"D'ya have a gun with ya, Da?" Connor's very serious voice had commanded the conversation. Da looked critical, not at all sure what was going on.

"Aye, but what d'ya need it fer?"

"I have a bad feelin' about whatever may be goin' on in there, but whatever it is, I want ta know, because that's my cat in there, and I think Murphy's girlfriend too, and if I'm right it's not a fuckin' party in there."

Murphy cocked his head to one side and shared a confused glance with Mary. "How the fuck d'ya know that, Conn?" He was ignored as Da pulled a gun from the confines of his trench coat and handed it to Connor. "Connor, if somethin's goin' on in there, what are ya gonna do once yer face to face with it?"

"That's a wonderful question," Connor said. He began to walk across the street.

"Wait a minute Connor," Da called, "Mind explainin' why I came back ta find ya on crutches?" Connor did not look like he wanted to answer that yet.

Mary felt a sudden urge. "Connor, you need to have some idea of what you're planning to do…I have an idea."

Coccotti's posse was all arranged nice and prepared for some one to come in. This chick he'd seen hanging out with Murphy was good enough leverage. He had no doubt that some one would come in there—probably to feed that damn cat that Danny had seen Connor and Mary bring home earlier that day. He didn't have to wait long at all.

He heard Connor much before he actually saw him in the dimming light that was coming in through the windows of the old restaurant. Connor came up, leaning on a cane to support one of his legs. When he saw Coccotti, he stopped dead. "What the fuck is this?" he asked, officially freaked out. He was holding something wrapped in brown paper.

"Remember me?" Coccotti asked smugly. Suddenly there were three guns aimed at Connor from different parts of the room. "What's in the package?"

Connor glanced coolly at each gun in turn. He noticed the one gun that was not pointed at him was directed instead at the familiar strawberry-blond head of Alexandria. She was sitting on her knees with her hands cuffed in front of her. She wasn't gagged—probably didn't need to be. Connor could see from where he was standing that she was shaking fearfully. Danny held the gun firmly. "I'm here ta feed my cat," Connor said flatly.

"Where's your brother?"

"He went ta meet Alex at work," Connor said, "He'll probably figure out she's not there in a little while. What do ya want with him?"

"He never did give me my drugs back." Vincenzo sounded a bit angrier this time. "So technically, we never traded." He glanced at Connor's leg and smirked slightly. "Enjoying that?"

"The cane has its benefits," Connor said indifferently. "Like beating fuck heads like ye until yer skull cracks open. Wanna see?" A faint growling sound rose up from the darkness right after he said that.

Coccotti looked around carefully, but didn't seem the least bit startled by it. He took a few short steps in Connor's direction. All the while he kept glancing about in the darkness. He drew a gun and made sure that Connor saw it. "Keep being so impolite and I'll finish what I started in my basement." Connor noticed that he was too far away to reach—even if he could tackle Vincenzo without being hindered by his stupid leg. "Just imagine a bullet in your head."

"That's fuckin' ambiguous, dumb ass."

"Fine, imagine a bullet inside her head." He pointed the gun behind him, haphazardly aiming at Alex without looking away from Connor. There was silence, broken only when Connor dropped his brown paper parcel on the floor, as if he was tired of carrying it. "You wouldn't happen to know what he did with my stuff, would you?"

Connor shrugged, indifferent to the gun as it was once again aimed at him. "He turned it in to the police," he said calmly. "The fuck d'ya think he did?"

1 Did you know his name is Frankie?

2 I had no idea.

3 I wonder if Ma knows.


	35. Separation

Nicholas: Thank you Amanda (aka: Bronkamuffin) for helping so much with this chapter. This is officially the last chapter. The epilogue will follow.

* * *

Mary was probably scowling the entire time she watched this exchange between Coccotti and her Connor. Every time she looked at the Italian, she couldn't help but think that her brother had been involved in something with him. She pushed the theory of her brother's death being Coccotti's fault to the side of her head and continued to watch. At one point, Murphy had to restrain her from doing something stupid when she saw Vincenzo pull a gun. Da put a finger over his lips silently, and continued to quietly load his gun. Mary continued to watch Connor.

All of the sudden, Connor dropped his cane, and he moved so fast that Mary couldn't tell his leg didn't work. He socked Coccotti's leg and the two of them fell to the ground together. Connor tore open the package on the floor and pulled out the gun Da had given him. He quickly shoved Coccotti to the ground, knocked his pistol away and forced his own weapon between Vincenzo's teeth.

Mary was horrified at the expression on Connor's face. To say he was pissed off would be greatly understating his intentions. She could just hear him speak. "The game changes drastically with a gun in yer mouth, doesn't it, asshole?"

Vincenzo's people started to move about quietly around Connor. Mary wanted to warn him, but she felt Murphy's hand cover her mouth. He dragged her farther into their shadowed hiding place and held back an indignant cry when some one kicked his brother in the head to get him off Coccotti.

Coccotti seemed shaken, but he stood collectively and straightened out his clothes. The man who had kicked Connor along with another man hefted Connor to his feet and held his arms still. Connor struggled defiantly of course, but when he was socked in the stomach, Murphy made Mary look away. He and Da pulled her back into the darkness and dragged her along while they stepped quietly through the room. There was a very great, very scary loathing for Vincenzo Coccotti building in Mary's gut.

They were heading for Alexandria, who was still sitting on the ground at the back wall of the building with her hands cuffed and a kid holding a gun to her head. Da gripped Mary's hand while Murphy took off to try and say his girl. Mary couldn't help but look Connor's way again.

Connor tried in vain to keep a hold on his gun while two of Coccotti's goons wrenched it out of his hand. They shoved him backwards so that he landed roughly on his rear. His left leg was getting very sore, but he pushed the thought away. He turned awkwardly and reached out for his cane that had rolled some distance away from him. A gun went off and a bullet embedded itself in the concrete somewhere near Connor's head. The Irishman instinctively wrapped his arms over his head as if that would be sufficient protection against another, better aimed shot.

That was when Alexandria couldn't watch from the shadows anymore. She sprung from her back legs and let out a vicious roar as she charged up to the small throng of humans that were hurting her man. She bit the tallest of the men and stood above Connor protectively.

Vincenzo stared at the over-sized cat in disbelief. He aimed his gun all the same, but did not fire. Connor took advantage of the situation and looked behind him. Behind Coccotti he saw Murphy grab Danny and cover his mouth. No one else saw it. Mary helped Alexandria up quietly and Da took their place when they retreated into the shadows. As the Italians retreated from the other Alexandria, Connor quickly pushed himself across the floor and grabbed his cane. He forced himself up stiffly and limped over to stand beside his cat.

Da drew a gun from his coat and aimed it at a man to Connor's left. He didn't want to aim at Coccotti—who was standing directly in front of his son. The click of the gun as he cocked it echoed through the vast, dark room. The sun that had once come in through the windows was almost gone. Coccotti turned quickly and almost shit himself at the sight of the intimidating man in the trench coat.

Connor took advantage of the distraction to look around the room. He saw his gun in one of those bastard's hands. He sighed and continued to look and saw Mary. With a squint he made out that Mary had a large metal pipe thing. The only thing that kept him from smiling at her was her expression, which read: "you goin' down, ass-wipe.' It was directed at Coccotti. Connor backed away a step before he realized that she had not been noticed yet. After making a mental note of never wanting to see her like this again, he formed a plan.

He couldn't reach Coccotti because of the cat was in his way, so directed his attention to the only thing that stood between Mary and Coccotti. Vincenzo snapped his fingers and one of the men to his right closed the short distance between him and Connor and put a gun to the Irishman's head, holding him still. Alexandria was about to pounce, but couldn't do it without landing on Connor.

"Put the gun down, grandpa, or there'll be a bullet in his head." Coccotti just managed fuck up a situation.

Connor didn't miss a beat. He elbowed the man who held him in the side, stumbled forward and whacked the man to his left with it. He managed to hit him one more time before he was socked in the side and fell once more to the ground. Then, like a bat out of hell, Mary ran at Coccotti, full throttle and the pipe landed swiftly on Vincenzo's head with a resounding crack.

When the wop fell, a puddle of blood formed around his head. Mary proceeded to kick him in the kidneys. "You mother fucker!" she screamed, "Go to fucking hell, you motherless, son of a cunt-licking bastard! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! You fucking bastard!" She kicked him a few more times and tossed the pipe down on him. When she grew silent, Connor now had his gun and shot the man who had last hit him in the head. Da shot as well in the same instant, killing the only man remaining.

Then all eyes fell once more on Mary, who was fuming and almost foaming at the mouth. Murphy and Alexandria stood off to the side, mimicking faces that were both horrified and admiring. The silence lasted a long time, before Connor made himself stand up and approached the poor, vicious woman with angry tears in her eyes. He put an arm around her and she starting sobbing and clutched him suddenly.

"Ya cursed like an Irishman, dear," Connor muttered in her ear.

Mary may have choked out a laugh behind her current state of crying her eyes and lungs out for a reason she couldn't identify. She cried into his shirt for a long few moments.

Suddenly, Murphy cleared his throat and drew the attention towards himself. "Looks like ya got yerself a real keeper, Conn," he said with an awkward smile. Connor just laughed ironically and nodded. Murphy went on. "And I gots me an Alexandria." He attempted to put an arm around the woman beside him.

Alexandria growled slightly—the woman, mind you. "Murphy remove your arm from my shoulders or I'll remove it from yours. As much as I love you, don't fucking touch me." Murphy said a "yes Ma'am" and took his arm from her shoulder.

Connor let out a taunting whistle. "Wow, Murph." He imitated a whip cracking with a smirk.

Murphy sneered at him. "Don' even fuckin' start little brother."

Connor let out an indignant squawk. "What the fuck're ya talkin' about? Ma stated it explicitly, and I think I beat you there."

"No ya didn't," Murphy said, "I seen yers time enough ta know mine's bigger."

"I told ya I had ice on mine."

Mary slowly regained her composure and sent a "what the fuck" look. "What are you guys talking about?" she asked, only slightly shaken by the recent death, but now much more curious about what the brothers were talking about.

Connor gave a wolfish grin and glanced at Murphy, whose smirk said something more along the lines of "shit eater." "Funny story about that, actually," Connor said, "We, uh, we asked our ma which one o' us was older, right? Which one came out first? She said…well…" He shrugged slightly.

"The one with the biggest cock," Murphy concluded.

After the air had settled down in the building—which meant after Da had subdued not only two fighting boys, but two women who were at the same time shrieking with laughter and horrified by current events—Connor decided to clean up. When he came to this conclusion, though, he noticed that his cat, Alexandria, was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Coccotti's body. He brought the subject up to Mary.

"She probably just went somewhere to eat him or something." Funny that she, who had once been horrified at the thought of the cat eating people, was perfectly comfortable with Coccotti being eaten. He noticed that she was still shivering, and not from cold.

"Let's go home," he ventured.

"That's a good idea," she admitted quietly. After a beat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. With his free hand, he patted her back. His other hand had returned to his cane—which was about the only thing keeping him on his feet.

"Da'll take ya to the apartment," Connor told her, "I've got stuff to fix up, but I'll be along in a moment." He gave her an encouraging smile and she hesitantly went to walk with the man that had scared the living daylights out of her only a half an hour before.

The building was now almost pitch black, making it almost impossible to find a black cat within its premises. Connor did it, though, and he rather wished he hadn't. He found the very bloody body of Vincenzo Coccotti and next to it, the body of a black she-panther, her eyes closed and her fur without luster. Connor stared at her, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn't kneel down next to her, and that pissed him off. If he bent down to try and touch her he'd lose his balance and fall, and that pissed him off. The fact that Coccotti still managed to take his friend away even after he was dead, that pissed Connor off the most.

Though he knew that it wasn't at all appropriate, he said his family prayer for her. "Shepherds we shall be, for thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. So we shall—"

Hearing something behind him, he turned to see Murphy standing there, with his hand awkwardly rubbing his neck. "So we shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be." Murphy came to stand beside his brother over the body of the cat. "In nomini Patris, et Filii, et Spirirus Sancti."

Connor stared at him, appreciatively. "How's Alexandria?" he asked, to prevent a silence.

"Mine's doin' all right. Yers…not so much. I'm sorry, Conn." Murphy put an arm around his brother's shoulders. Connor just nodded and looked away, a pain in his heart. "I'm taking her home—my Alex, I mean. I might not be back tonight, she seems really shaken up."

"Might need yer 'comfort,' Murph?"

Murphy just poked him in his side lightly. "Ya never know, do ya? Now ye need ta get yer ass ta Mary's and make sure she gets ta bed okay, got it?"

Connor laughed at his brother and nodded. Their good bye fell between them silently, and though neither spoke it aloud right then, they both heard it. Connor hugged Murphy tightly then, dropping his cane so he could use both arms. He found Murphy held him up better than Mary had been able to. Murphy patted his back lightly. "_Auf Wiedersehen, mein Bruder_1," he said quietly.

"_A bientôt, mon frère__2_," Connor replied quietly.

1 Good bye, my brother (Deutsch)

2 See you soon, my brother (Français)


	36. Epilogue

Nicholas: Forgive me. I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that I dedicate all kidney-kicking and lead-pipe-smacking to Amanda Nutmuffin and thank God I have a muse like her! This is it, folks! The epilogue!

* * *

Amazingly, Connor made it up the stairs by himself. He smiled at what Mary had said about it. Maybe he was healing nicely. When he entered the apartment, Da was sitting on the couch, staring off into space. That seemed to be a habitual trait in the MacManus line. Something about the way Da looked told Connor that his father was thinking about Ma. "Is Mary okay?" Connor asked at length, reluctant to disturb the old man.

"Aye, she's asleep," Da replied, looking up out of his daze. "I didn't know which room was hers, so I put her in the one on the right of the bathroom."

"Yeah that's hers." Connor leaned awkwardly and heavily on his cane. There was a tight pain just behind his knee, but he tried to ignore it. "Ye can sleep in the one on the left tonight, Da. I don' think she'll have a problem with that."

Da nodded and stared at the ceiling again. Connor thought he wasn't paying attention anymore, so he took the time to inch towards Mary's room unnoticed. "Don' wake her up, Connor," Da said stiffly, not even glancing at his son. Connor never would understand how parents seemed to see you even when they weren't looking. "Are ye gonna tell me how ye hurt yer leg, or what?"

With a shake of his head, Connor smiled. "Not tonight." He really didn't want to talk about it. "Now I think I'll say good night to Mary." Before Da could say anything else, Connor escaped to the hallway and then found his way in the dark to Mary's bedroom.

He'd never been in that particular room before, so he had a childish curiosity of what may lie inside. He felt the same apprehensive rush when he killed some one as when he entered her room that night. Quietly, he stole over to her bedside, just able to see by the light that came in through the window. Mary's face was serene and peaceful—nothing compared to the ferocious woman he'd seen kill Coccotti. He liked her better that way for a obvious reason. Out of impulse, he leaned down—awkwardly because of the pain in his leg—and kissed her on the cheek.

"Connor?" One wouldn't have been able to tell at that point if she were awake or not. "Is that you?" Her eyes flickered open and shut for a moment. One of her legs shifted under the blanket.

"Aye, Mary, it's just me," he said, matching her quieted tone.

"Don't go away, Connor," she muttered, her eyes finally open. She touched his face as if to make sure he wasn't a lingering dream. "Stay with me, okay?"

After a short beat, Connor's smile turned smug. "Now who sounds corny?" he asked triumphantly. She ignored him and sat up, putting her arms around his neck. She was still shivering, but he couldn't tell what from. It wasn't because of the man she had killed, that had worn off. He put an arm around her, and used the other one to keep himself from falling over onto the bed. "Ye should go back ta sleep."

"Will you sleep in here tonight?" she asked in his ear. "My bed will fit two." She asked in earnest. Nothing suggested a hint of seduction in her voice. All she wanted was some one with her. "Please?"

"I don' think…" Connor trailed off, feeling her arms tighten around his neck. He sighed. "I hate wearin' pajamas. I don' think that's very appropriate."

"I've seen you in boxers before."

She had him there. He shrugged and nodded. "Okay, ye win." She immediately let go and scooted over for him to sit down. As she pushed herself under her covers farther, she watched him undress. She was already wearing her T-shirt and shorts that she often wore for pajamas. He had trouble getting his jeans off, but she didn't think he'd appreciate her help with that. She knew men well enough than to mess with their pride. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she resisted an urge to reach up and touch his back. His skin looked so soft that she wanted to know what it felt like.

She curled up against him when he finally lay down beside her. It seemed that he self-consciously pulled the sheets all the way up to his chin. It was most likely because the wounds on his chest from Coccotti's knife-play five days before were leaving scars. When Connor put his arm around her, Mary ran her hand over the raised marks on his skin. He placed his hand over hers.

"Should I not?" she asked, seeing discomfort on his face in the dim light of her room. He didn't answer her. "You don't have to hide it from me. These scars are what made you a martyr."

"Yeah, but the thing about martyrs is that they have ta die," he said with an ironic laugh.

She remembered something he'd said before about knowing some one is dead and knowing you can't help them. "Some things are worse than death," she said, "and you survived." A smile and a sigh were her reply. "Anyway, if you _had_ died, I would have gone to hell or heaven to get you back. God can't have you until I'm done with you."

"Yer sayin' ya will tired o' me then?"

She smiled, being much happier being in his presence. Then she kissed him on the cheek. "Never."

**The End**


End file.
